#he was born to war and the hunger of its victims will kill him but even then | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

readyplayerhobi · 6 years ago

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A Court Of Curses

; Vampire Prince!Hoseok x Witch Queen!Reader

; Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

; Warnings: Fingering, oral sex (receiving), choking kink, unprotected sex, biting (vampiric), blood play, creampie, dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, dirty talk, mentions and talk of miscarriage

; Word Count: 29.3k

; Synopsis: For millennia, the vampires and witches have hated one another and war has raged between the two. When tensions flare up once more and spill into neutral land, peace is forced upon the two by the faeries. The price of peace sees the Witch Queen married to the Vampire Prince. One hundred years later, how have things changed?

; A/N: So... I hope people like this. I know it’s super long but I’m hoping people will enjoy. Please let me know what you all think to our delightful vampire prince and please, if you enjoy then reblog and comment! It will help this story reach more people given the issues Tumblr is having!

The relations between vampires and witches have always been tense and strenuous. For thousands of years, your people and the vampires have fought in anger and other negative emotions with diplomacy almost non-existent. Retaliation after retaliation, until the original cause of the rift between both races has long been forgotten by the general population.

But you knew how it all began. Your father, the Witch King, had made sure the history of both races was taught to you as you’d grown up within the walls of the seat of power in Hekatalia. That included learning the horrifying knowledge that would fracture your society if they remembered, and would likely incite refusals to acknowledge what had happened. For your people were not the victims, no matter how much they tried to plead it after various vampire attacks.

Amongst your kind, there were various forms of magic that witches performed. Most remained firmly in the white category, with their magic innocent and pure. Some gravitated towards grey, with hexes being cast in anger or annoyance but never crossing an unseen line.

Dark witches though, revelled in the more sinister aspect of magic. Shunned by the normal population, dark magic was performed with especially negative emotions that thirsted for power, driven solely by desire. Sacrifice was common, and torture had been heard of. While deemed repellant by witch society at large, the wicked magic performed by dark witches was often considered required, for you could not have light without dark.

Long ago however, millennia ago in fact, dark witches had thirsted for power just as much as they did now. A certain sect of dark witches however, the Vampirius Sect, had become infamous for their experimentations with their magic beyond the usual sacrifices. These despicable witches had experimented with blood and death and a magic so dark that even the demons shied away from it.

The result had destroyed the sect itself, but it had left the survivors of their experiment forever changed in a way that rocked the world. These people had once been human in some form, simple peasants from the witch kingdom that had been kidnapped from their homes and farms as they worked and slept.

But afterwards, they were maddened creatures that had been ravaged by the dark magic that had crept into their bodies and changed themselves physically, their innate magic being twisted until it no longer resembled anything a witch would call magic. Their vision had been enhanced to that of a cat’s, able to see further and in the night, while their speed and strength had been increased astronomically also.

A farmer who had once struggled to load up his wagon now had the strength to throw said wagon.

And their hunger. Oh, they had hungered for something they did not understand. Food and drink could not sustain them for long, and their mouths watered for something they could not understand until one day, they had snapped. And attacked.

Fangs, sharp as knives, had elongated in their mouths and they had discovered something that satiated the desperate thirst they had. Blood.

Over time the vampire race, so named after the sect that had produced them, had gained their senses and intelligence again. Learning how to use their abilities to increase their standing in the world, they worked hard until they had gained enough land to create a kingdom of their own. They used a combination of slick diplomacy and hard fought battles until they commanded respect from the other races.

All, except the witches. Whom they loathed with a vile passion for what your race had done to theirs. And so war raged between the two. The witches assaulting vampiric lands with spells and magic, burning their crops and razing their lands with spells that left the ground barren.

The vampires responded by destroying witch villages, draining the inhabitants of blood and burning down whole buildings with people inside.

Both sides had committed crimes that were eye-opening and horrific, but you considered your side to have done the most wrong. After all, it was your people who had tortured and experimented on their own kind until the vampires were born.

Over the millennia, the original reasoning for your conflict had become forgotten. It had simply become expected for the witches and vampires to hate each other. And they had. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had been slaughtered through witchcraft or exsanguination over the years.

Until the neighbouring kingdom’s of the faeries and werewolves had had enough of the war spilling over into their lands.

You had been but a princess when the Great Demonic War had happened. The war had originally begun when a break-away clan of vampires had attacked the witch town of Craysus. Every witch had been slaughtered, with blood soaking into the rich dirt while their houses burnt to ash.

Your own father had tried for diplomacy at first, reaching out to the vampire kingdom of Sanguinus and asking for them to try the murderers. It was futile, as diplomacy had never been officially maintained between the kingdoms.

They had refused however, claiming that the vampires had nothing to do with their kingdom as the accused had renounced their allegiance to the Kingdom of Sanguinus. And so the villages and towns on the border of your kingdom, Hekatalia, had waged their own war. It had been like dominoes falling one by one, until both sides were enraged and war had begun again.

Only this time, people on both sides had fought on land that was not their own. When a faerie prince was killed by accident, the grief-stricken Faerie Queen had united with the Wolf King to end the damned feud between their neighbours once and for all.

A demon bargain had been struck between them, and the Gates of Hell had been opened onto your lands and the vampiric lands. The demons had rained destruction and disaster on both sides, laughing in the face of pleas and scoffing at threats, until finally both beleaguered kingdoms were pleading for mercy.

Your own father had been killed in a battle with a demon to protect you once the fighting had reached the castle, leaving you the next Queen of the Witches. The Vampire King had grudgingly met with you to iron out details of a peace treaty, unheard of between witches and vampires. Unfortunately for both races though, the faeries were not forgiving creatures and the punishment was severe.

A union between vampire and witch was demanded, a marriage between the monarchies. As the Vampire King was already married, his only son had been chosen instead. You had agreed to marry him with bitterness, the knowledge that this would save your kingdom from ruin and death the sole thing that had made you acquiesce.

Your wedding day, a day that should have been bright and happy, had been quiet and subdued. A delegation of the vampires had taken their place in the Oak Grove, the traditional place for marriages in Hekatalia, while a small contingent of witches from your Court had stood on the other, both sides glaring at the other.

The Ancient Oak had stood above you, with its wide trunk wizened with age while grand branches arched overhead. A soft breeze had rustled the leaves gently, which were spelled to never die, and you had wondered for a moment how many marriages this tree had overlooked. How many declarations of love it had observed.

Your dress had been customary for the witches. An emerald green made of the richest silk that swooped and hung elegantly over your curves to represent the earth, while a navy blue sash had been tied to your waist, twined through tiny silver hoops, to symbolise water and rings with rich rubies to represent fire adorning your fingers. The white silk ribbon threaded through your hair represented the very air you breathe, and your feet were bare to connect you to nature and the source of magic.

It probably all seemed very primitive and bizarre to the vampires, with their elegance and love for fashion. Not that your people were not interested in fashion, but they also needed a connection to the very nature whom they relied on to provide their magic.

Tiny white flowers, symbolic of marriage and happiness, had been threaded through your hair along with the ribbon while an elegant diadem intertwined with diamonds and silver leaves rested on your forehead.

Your fiancée had worn a suit of darkness, from his black breeches that clung to toned legs to the ebony, fitted jacket with subtle gold trim that sat on his slim frame. A deep, sultry red shirt of the highest quality silk took its place underneath a black waistcoat, while knee high boots laced up along the front had completed his look.

Despite the animosity between your races, and the fact that you were being forced to marry him to end a war, you would have been a complete fool to deny the handsomeness of him. The vampires were known for their beauty, often breeding purposefully to engineer aesthetically pleasing offspring.

Jung Hoseok was the product of centuries of careful marriages, and it showed in the stiff manner in which he held himself, exuding a confidence and strength that would have made you shiver under normal circumstances. His body was trim and toned, yet there was enough muscle to let you know that he could likely more than hold his own in a fight. He’d been in the vampiric army apparently, serving as a captain during the war.

But his face, his face would never let anyone think he was anything other than royalty. A strong jawline caught the eye first, and anyone looking at his profile would get a perfect view of his arrestingly beautiful nose, sloping straight before turning up at the end ever so slightly.

Hoseok had, and still has, a face made for portraits. Paintings to be looked upon and admired for centuries to come. You had no doubt that artist’s hands twitched for a brush to try and do him justice on a canvas.

High cheekbones led to soft, plush lips with dimples that softened him when he let them appear. And yet it was his eyes that had made you swallow involuntarily at the time. Dark with loathing and hatred for not only you and your kind but the faeries who had brutally hammered an end to the war that had shattered both your lives.

But even then, the shape of them had betrayed his inner personality. Because despite how hard your future husband tried to show his distaste, he had kind eyes.

Still, neither of you had wanted this marriage. And yet you had to, for the only other option was the annihilation of your peoples.

The ceremony had been subdued, a blend of both witch and vampire customs. He’d taken your wrist to his mouth, biting down on the vulnerable flesh there with just enough pressure for his sharpened fangs to cut through the surface. One swallow and he’d let go, before biting at his own wrist and presenting it to you.

It had been distasteful, and you’d wanted to gag at the very thought. But it was required as per their custom. It was how vampires married, my blood to your blood. And so you had swallowed the bitter, metallic liquid with gritted teeth before the exchange of silver rings had occured.

The handfasting had occured next, both holding each others hand as little as possible as the priestess wrapped the rope around your wrists and hands tightly while speaking the marriage vows that you had both repeated.

And then had come the parts that was not traditional to either of you.

The Faerie Queen had stood by and watched as this all happened, before moving forth and placing a dainty hand on your entwined hands. With a slightly smirking smile, she had bestowed the Faerie Curse that had ended the damnable war, finally.

Jung Hoseok and you were wedded, and your kingdoms were at peace. The terms of the curse were simple. For six months of the year, you were required to be together otherwise suffer excruciating pain. If you were not together, then the curse would spread to your people slowly like a disease until both races eventually died out.

To provide some respite, the final six months of the year allowed you to separate. To prevent attempts to be cruel to each other, or try and kill each other when you weren’t required to be near, then any attempts to see each other would result in equal amounts of pain for yourself and your peoples.

If one of you were to die, then that race would die also.

Which meant that you were both bestowed with immortality, even beyond the long lived natures of both races. The perfect way to stop a war, and for one hundred years it has been a great success. The crown jewel in the history of diplomatic relations of your continent.

For the first time in millennia, the vampires and witches are at a full peace. Neither side plots against the other while fringe movements that seek to destabilise the tranquility are struck down quickly with an iron fist to keep the peace.

And all it required, was for the Witch Queen and the Vampire Prince to lose their own chance at happiness.

“The carriage has been seen, Your Majesty.” The words come from an attendant who takes your empty plate from you quickly, bowing low so as not to see your expression of distaste. Sighing deeply, you look down at your now barren table and take a deep drink of the rich red wine in your glass.

Six months of quiet is about to be interrupted by the arrival of your husband, and it only takes a lazy glance around the expansive dining room to see the quick movements of servants as they clean.

You’re not sure why they bother, as he has lived in this castle for fifty of the last one hundred years, but you presume it is just a force of habit. Any guest arriving saw the castle being cleaned from top to toe. At least he couldn’t complain about a dirty residence.

Standing, you smile graciously as another attendant takes your empty glass before they scurry off through a side door to the kitchen. You have no doubt that the kitchen staff are cleaning up for the evening, perhaps even making their own meals to either eat in the warm room or to take home to their families.

You had long ago decreed that the servants of the castle were free to eat in the kitchen and any leftover food should be eaten instead of thrown. It would truly be a travesty for your chef’s food to go to waste. Jin did not train his skills in three kingdom’s just to have that thrown away.

Walking out of the overly large dining room, you move slowly through the empty hallways and look them over with a critical eye. The stone walls are clean, with not even a cobweb in sight and your lips purse as you note the crystal clear glass of the windows. Even the paintings that hang along the walls are in the best condition possible, each one with their colours vibrant and vivid as they portray important moments in witch history or one of Hekatalia’s many monarchs.

Your own portrait is not in this hallway, but you never like looking at it anyway. The artist, Kim Taehyung, was phenomenal but you simply found it vain to stare at yourself. There was a second portrait of you with your husband in another hallway and you sometimes felt like you could feel his disdain coming from within the coloured oils.

Moving towards the main hallway, you take a pause to look up at the grand and cavernous room. The ornate chandelier, with its thousands of exquisitely cut diamonds, is shining brightly as the spelled candles burn forevermore within, casting dancing shadows around the room in the evening light while the glare of the crystals causes pretty patterns to appear.

The sweeping staircase on either side of the entranceway is made of the finest marble, and you ponder for a moment the many kings and queens who have used these stairs to retire for the evening. There are plenty of staircases in the castle of course, but as the main entryway this was designed to shock and awe visitors.

Which it did, but your husband did not arrive using the main entrance. Not after one hundred years anyway.

Instead, you continue on down one of the smaller corridors that is usually used by the servants of the castle. Years spent as a child in these halls mean that you know the castle like the back of your hand, and as such you know the quickest way to the servant’s entrance around the rear of the castle.

Nodding to the attendants who wait with blank faces, you head out of the door and stand with perfect poise. Your timing was ideal, as the aristocratic black and red carriage enters into the small courtyard as you place your hands togetehr. The four Sanguinus steeds breathe heavily, their dark sides heaving from the effort of pulling the carriage and you watch as servants from your own stables move forward to provide water and feed for the animals.

Vampire coachmen alight from the carriage and you recognise one of them as Kim Namjoon, a long serving attendant of your husband’s who has accompanied him on the extensive journey from his kingdom to yours over the many years. Luggage is pulled from the back of carriage and piled high before the door opens and you finally get a glimpse of the man you will spend the next six months with.

He’s tall and elegant as always, with a stiff and straight posture that belies his regal upbringing. Taking a moment to observe the tall, white walls of the castle, you hear him let out a little sigh before he rolls his head slowly, stretching his shoulders out. The journey is long from Sanguinus to Hekatalia, and you have no doubt that he is tired and in need of rest.

Finally, his gaze moves to you and you watch as those dark eyes turn onto you firmly. Even after one hundred years, it is still an awkward meeting of the two kingdoms. Perhaps one day, it will not feel like this.

“Wife.” Hoseok greets coldly, his expression barely moving except for the slightest twitch of his dark brow. Equally dark eyes remained focused on you, and you noted the tiniest pout to his lips.

Still immature, even after one hundred years of marriage.

“Husband.” You responded, making sure your tone matched his own. His attendants shuffled awkwardly around you both, the glacial attitude you both had to each other causing a strong tension in the room that you simply couldn't see.

“My prince, we will take our leave now and return in six months for you,” Namjoon next to him whispered, a hand on your husband’s arm that stood out from the black material while is own icy blonde hair swayed in the soft breeze. “We wish you well.”

Hoseok didn't even look at the man as he nodded his acknowledgement. Your husband was not rude to his attendants, but you had noticed over the years that the vampires were certainly a little more brusque when it came to ruling. They often thought the witches were soft in that area, but you just reasoned that it was natural to care more when you had such a strong link to nature.

Without any further words, you watched carefully as they alighted into the carriage before the horses pulled away at a frantic canter. Amusement tugged at your lips as you watched them speed off, still fascinated at how many of your races could still hate each other after one hundred long years of peace.

And one hundred years of your curse.

There's silence for a moment, the sound deafening between you both and you're sure it's louder for your husband. He has hearing beyond your comprehension, something that has been a source of annoyance over the years.

Without a word, he moves closer in a stride that gives away his confidence that you will not push him away. There are no attendants of your own here, for it has long become established that you greet your husband in private.

As he stands close enough that you can feel his warm breath brush the flyaway strands of your hair, you can't help the tiny smile that appears

Reaching forward, your hands slip under the black jacket he has on, sliding along his dark waistcoat before they rejoin around his back. Looking up at his elegant face, you note the darkness in his eyes has softened slightly, deep black strands of hair falling into his gaze.

He says nothing for a moment, before he cups your face in strong hands that are ever so slightly cooler than your own. Leaning close, you take in the magnificent sight of your husband as your noses touch gently.

“I have missed you wife.” Hoseok practically breathes out, the longing and want of six months that he has kept hidden threading through each soft word.

You can't help the smile, nor the warmth of satisfaction and the buzz of happiness that burrows its way into your body at his tender words, his hands tender in their touch on your face. “I have missed you too husband. Desperately.”

He smiles at that, statuesque face breaking into a heart stoppingly beautiful grin that lightens not only him but you. Not a word is said further as he presses his lips to yours in a soft, but much needed kiss, your lips naturally fitting to each other after years of experience.

Despite the chaste nature to the kiss, he doesn’t move away to shorten the kiss and neither do you. Instead, your hands move to grip at the firmness of his slim waist while his own slowly move down your body, causing a wave of sensation that has you burning from the inside. Each touch is electrifying, setting your skin ablaze and you curse the fact it has been six months since you have touched him like this.

Since he has touched you like this.

Pulling away from him slowly, you give him a smile that is far more shy than it should be for a queen. But how could you not? He fills you with a happiness that vanishes with him for six months of the year, stowed away with him in the carriage he takes back to his kingdom.

“Come, I will have a bath drawn for you. You no doubt want to clean yourself.” You whisper, the sounds barely heard as they breath against his lips but he smiles all the same. A slow nod sends the dark strands of his hair into his face as he acknowledges, before you are both separating and heading through the plain wooden door.

Inside are four of your attendants, and you direct two of them to pick up his luggage and place it inside his rooms while the final two are directed to run him a warming bath. They pause for a moment, eyeing the handsome visage of the vampire prince next you before bowing their heads and scurrying out of the room.

Over recent years, the reactions to your husband have thawed in your kingdom. No longer is he treated with outright resentment, but more of a bored annoyance that simply seems to stem from an inherited idea that he is something wrong. Perhaps it is because he is always courteous, polite and kind whilst here.

Either way, the servants of the castle no longer sneer in his presence. They are certainly not comfortable with him, but you have noted the younger servants seem to be more at ease in his company.

It is eye opening to think that there are witches who will grow up only ever knowing peace with the vampires, and it gives you hope that one day you will be able to love him openly.

The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, neither looking at the other given the eyes that could be staring. You wish, desperately, that you could love your husband like any other wife. That you could watch him with an expression that says he put the stars in the sky for you and give him sly, coded smiles to make him flush and go shy like he does in private.

But you can’t. Because your marriage is not a marriage of love and kindness. It is a marriage of curses and pain. And that is what everyone expects to see.

Despondency settles itself firmly in your chest, gripping your throat tightly with a grim hand and it feels hard to breathe suddenly. You just want to love your husband. That’s all.

You’re jerked out of your despairing thoughts by the softest brush against your hand. It’s so featherlight that you almost think it’s a insect of some kind, scuttering along your skin and you jerk until you look down and see his hand there, brushing yours in a motion that would go unnoticed by anyone watching. Lowering your hand back down, you let the back of his hand brush against yours as you lead him to his usual rooms, a smile hidden deep inside at his comforting touch.

The two of you had learnt well how to hide your feelings for each other over the years. Despite the thawing emotions in your kingdom, there were many who still looked at him with disgust. Particularly those who did not live or work in the castle. Disgust for what he is, and fear for what his people have historically done.

You wish that you could show them that your people had done terrible things too. It would be wise for your population to remember that it was because of witches that vampires had even been created.

Shaking your head slightly, you let out the tiniest sigh as you acknowledged how futile that would be. In all honesty, you were just thankful that your people had chosen to accept the treaty. Both the witches and vampires were proud races, and it had been a bitter pill of humiliation to swallow to accept the terms offered to them.

Though, in reality they had no choice. The royal lineage ended with you and you were the metaphorical lightning rod of all magic for witchkind. It was through you that nature pushed its magic into, and it filtered out from you to the rest of the population. Millennia of breeding may have made Hoseok beautiful, but it had made you the perfect receptacle for the sheer amount of power you hosted.

Without you, the magic would run rampant and wild, killing witches who simply could not cope with that level of magic. A simple spell to wash a bowl could erupt into the equivalent of a magical bomb.

It meant that your people had to accept the treaty. The choice had been a slow death of madness with magic overloading people’s senses, a slow death of the curse spreading out in a wave or their lives in tact while their Queen remained shackled to a vampire.

It was easy to see why they had acquiesced.

Only, no one could have predicted that in only one hundred years, you would see the Faerie Curse as a half blessing. Half because it had given you your beloved, but half because it took him away for part of the year.

The prying eyes of servants who had not been spelled to keep your secrecy meant that you left Hoseok at his door, a meaningful glance from him telling you more in only a few seconds than any words could have ever hoped to say.

Your husband and you had become masters of conversations with only a glance, words with a touch and emotions with simply a subtle gesture.

Bowing your head to him regally, you turn and force one foot in front of the other as you hear his door close quietly. Your own rooms are next to his, the traditional suite of the monarchy and as you enter them, you rue the silence of the large expanse.

It had been your parents room before their demise, and you had changed it subtly over the century. A four poster bed took up most of the space, elegant curtains of pale silver and ruby red ready to make a private area just for yourself to sleep in while fluffy pillows littered the upper half of the mattress.

You wondered sometimes if any of the servants who were not in your, very small, inner circle had figured out the subtle meaning of them. Silver was the traditional colour of witches, while red was the symbolic colour of the vampires. Combining them together was a subtle gesture you had made long ago to let people know that this was your marriage bed, despite his separate rooms.

Sitting down on the soft, downy covers, you run a hand along the silk slowly and let out a slow, shaking sigh. Movement to your left causes you to look up, spying your most trusted assistant as she bows her head in respect as she enters the room.

Soyeon is young, but her family have served yours now for three generations. She had discovered your secret feelings for your husband when she had accidentally intruded one morning years ago, finding the two of you in the throes of passion.

Both of you had been terrified, worried about what people would think when they discovered the intimate relations the two of you shared. They had accepted the peace treaty, and begrudgingly accepted the marriage of monarchies, but resentment and anger still lingered strongly. It was one thing to consider the vampire prince courteous, but you were not sure how people would feel about finding out he shared your bed.

Instead, she had shyly smiled at you and told you that she was happy that you had found happiness in your marriage. It had confused you at first, the fact that a witch was not afraid or angry of her queen being in love with a vampire but she had been supportive ever since. She even liked Hoseok. A lot.

Hoseok was always kind to her when he was here, and it reflected in how she had accepted the relationship you had. He liked to joke around with her and you were pretty positive he considered her a little sister.

It had been the first time someone had voluntarily undertaken the spell that would not allow her to insinuate anything that could give away your love for each other, and she had become closer to you than anyone you had known previously.

“The prince is looking handsome today.” She says, her tone soft yet with just a tiny hint of teasing. Your lips quirk slightly, happy that you have at least one person who will tease you like a friend would. It was hard to maintain true friendships when you were the leader of a country, particularly a leader with a spouse that was despised.

“He is always handsome Soyeon, whatever do you mean?” You joke back, standing when she gestures and turning around to give her access to the delicate ribbons holding your dress together. Breathing out with relief as the tight bodice slackens, you watch out of the window over the darkening skies.

“You’re right, Your Majesty. He is always handsome. Are you happy he is here?” Her voice is sweet, full of curiosity towards both him and you while her deft fingers work at the dress quickly and efficiently. Watching the sky that is painted in oranges, pinks and yellows, you let a smile brighten your face.

“So happy. I have six months of happiness with him. Even if it is beyond closed doors, in empty gardens or secluded areas.” A hint of wistfulness enters your voice, the pining you have to just be with him normally appearing without your consent and Soyeon lets out a soft sigh of her own as she helps you out of the dress.

As you slip on your white nightgown, so plain compared to the delicate finery you normally don in the day, you watch her closely in the mirror as she begins to tidy up your room. “I’m sorry Your Majesty. I can try to make it so that you have more time alone with him this year?”

You smile at her appreciatively, nodding your head in acknowledgement while she begins to wipe away the makeup she had applied so carefully to your face this morning. “I would appreciate that Soyeon. Still, I’m happy because he is here at least. I can see him and hear him. My loneliness has disappeared now my happiness has arrived.”

A beautiful smile spreads over her face, lighting up her tan skin and revealing the sweet face you often admired. Soyeon would make a wonderful wife one day if she so chose, with her kind and caring nature combined with the beauty she had been bestowed at birth.

“I’m glad. You’re finished for the night Your Majesty,” She pauses slightly as she reaches the door, hands clasped together tightly. “I will ensure that no servants are to bother you tonight, or tomorrow morning. Nor your husband.” A secretive look flits over her face and you nod in thanks.

Soyeon is truly a gift.

The young assistant leaves your rooms and you walk over to the door, locking it carefully before turning to the door that connects your room to your husbands. Long ago, it was common for monarch’s to sleep separately from their spouses. That had changed over the centuries, but the rooms were still designed like this and were still connected.

When you had first married, you had lived in fear and concern for your life at the fact Hoseok had been placed in the rooms next to yours. It was the only thing you could do as a sign of respect for his royal standing in Sanguinus, but the knowledge of him being there had been nerve wracking. You had been as prejudiced towards vampires as your fellow subjects.

Now, however, it was a benefit that you often thanked yourself for doing. Because it was the only time that you could be sure you would have time with him alone.

Heading over to the mahogany door, you tap lightly on the intricate engravings that portray an ancient forest. A quiet acknowledgement comes from the other side and you enter, closing the door almost silently behind you as you take in the sight before you.

Hoseok’s rooms are a mirror of yours, with his bed covered in blood-red silken sheets that look luscious and inviting. His luggage, the griffin symbol of the vampire monarchy engraved on the dark leather front, sits on the floor nearby, waiting to be stored away in the numerous dark wood wardrobes, drawers and chests that are situated around the room.

And the elegant, marble tub that had been brought into the centre of the room took pride of place amongst everything else. It was currently sat atop the intricate rug that Hoseok had bought four years ago, the red and silver strands weaving together in a beautiful and nonsensical design.

It feels delightfully soft and fluffy as you walk upon it, stopping next to the bath’s edge. Inside, is your husband. And he looks magnificent as he lays back, the water up to his chest and steaming from the heat while a layer of frothy bubbles hides anything else from your curious view.

His eyes are closed as his head tips back against the edge, the black strands of his hair sticking to his forehead in the sweat that glistens all over the skin you can see. The lit candles around the room make his golden skin almost glow and you have to physically bite your lip to keep the moan you want to let out in.

“Enjoying your bath, husband?” You ask quietly, kneeling down and placing an elbow on the cool marble. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, but you note the twitch of his lips as he tries to keep his lips firm.

Reaching forward, you let your fingers trail along the velvety skin of his lips and laugh softly with amusement as they open up immediately for you. Hoseok makes no comment as you push your index finger between those open buds until you feel the firm enamel of his fang. His reaction is immediate and you watch with a raised brow as his hands grip the sides of the bath firmly, toned muscles in his arms suddenly appearing at the movement.

Something you had discovered over the many years, was that vampires had a little bit of an oral fixation. And their teeth were a little more sensitive than yours.

His head jerks away from your prying fingers and he glares at you through narrowed eyes. “I was, until my wife decided to intrude upon my quiet relaxation. What does it take for a man to bathe in peace around here?”

His grumbling is light though, the tone of his voice almost airy and your stomach clenches at the sound. Anymore teasing that you might give him is gone suddenly as your hand moves along his face, thumb stroking at the silky skin of his cheek while your other hand traces along the prominent veins on the back of his hand.

“Well...it has been six months since your wife saw you. Maybe she just missed you?” You don’t mean for the words to sound so full of emotion, your throat constricting while a sheen of tears suddenly fills your eyes.

Almost immediately he’s frowning, sitting up in the water and causing it to slosh along the sides loudly. Some of it even falls over the edge, dropping into your lap and causing a damp spot to stick the thin fabric of your gown to your knees.

“Darling, I did not mean to upset you. I have missed you dreadfully too,” His own hand cups your cheek now, damp from the water and you lean into it desperately. The pressing of his forehead to your own causes you to open your eyes to him, noting those chocolate irises so close to yours. “I swear, it gets harder every year to pretend to hate coming here. One year, I will jump with joy when the carriage arrives for me.”

You huff out a laugh at that, knowing that it is likely going to be a long time before Hoseok does such a thing. Relations between your races are no longer fiery and hot, but have instead turned glacial and cold with both sides understanding that they have to grudgingly get along.

People are likely not ready to accept the fact that their queen and prince are in fact, in love.

One day though, you will both tell the world to go to hell and finally embrace your own happiness. And why shouldn’t you? You had been forced into this marriage one hundred years ago, why should they expect you to both remain unhappy in it forever?

Moving away, you take hold of his hands and thread your fingers through with his. For someone who was in the military during the war, and even now remained active when he was back there, his hands were long fingered and elegant. Pianist hands.

He could play the piano as well, and he often liked to for you when he was here. Songs filled with love and emotion that only you could decode and understand.

Taking the cleaning rag that had been left over the side, you dip it into the water and slowly begin to drag it over his skin. He watches you lazily, appreciation in his eyes as you clean along his chest and arms slowly.

“How have you been?” You ask quietly, stroking along the delicate yet firm flesh reverently while your eyes flicker across his face, taking in every bit of him to see if anything had changed. Vampires were long lived, even longer than witches and they healed faster too.

But still, sometimes things happened that could leave permanent scarring.

He smiles for a moment, the look making his eyes crease and look even kinder than they had the day you had married him. That is, until you note the sly look in them.

Before you can even say anything about that, his hands move to your waist where he grips firmly and the next thing you know, you’re landing in the tub on top of him in a supreme show of vampiric strength. Water immediately bursts over the side, the bubbles slipping over the edge and you let out a shriek of combined laughter and indignation as your nightgown clamps to your skin.

The water is almost scalding hot and there really is no room for two people in here, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain as he holds you closely to his chest while your legs dangle off the edge.

“I have been fine my darling. Bored even. There’s nothing interesting happening there. I’ve simply been leading military maneuvers and listening to my father as he holds meetings. I hear that we have finally managed to secure a trade deal with Hekatalia? Apparently the leader was a real witch to work with.” He muses, tilting his head back as he scans the ceiling in faux surprise while his hand rubs at him chin.

You poke at his chest lightly before leaning forward and nipping gently at his jawbone. “Hush you. Be glad you weren’t present for those meetings. That, is the epitome of boredom. You know what I really don’t care about? The tax ratings on cheese. Great goddess, I thought negotiating taxes on Sanguine steeds was bad enough.”

Hoseok watches you fondly as you continue to complain about taxes, noting that there’s a reason you hire advisors who specialise solely in tax work. The entire time he watches you, his fingers slowly trace along your exposed thigh in a decidedly non-sexual manner. Instead, it feels soothing and comforting.

“Well...our cheese truly is delicious though. Do you not remember when I brought you some ten years ago?” He states and the memory slowly filters its way back into your mind. Eyes widening as your cheeks flush, your head tilts down as you lick at your lips.

“I do. It was delicious, I will concede to you on that.” You say slowly, eyes flickering back up to look into his. He’s silent for a moment, and you’ve known him long enough to know that he is calculating behind those pretty eyes of his.

“I do like it when you concede to me.” He whispers and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you at the slight darkness to his voice. Your husband has sexual preferences that are probably considered brow raising to many, and disgusting to many of your race in particular.

“Still, I’m glad I don’t have to do those kinds of meetings yet. Despite the years of training, I’m really not sure if I’m cut out for this king business. In fact, I’m hoping my father lives a lot longer or he just gives the throne to one of my sisters. Then I can just let my wife take all the prestige.” One of his hands move around to your waist, stroking along the wet fabric there slowly while a smile spreads on his face.

You snort out a decidedly un-ladylike laugh as you let your own hand rest against his damp shoulder. Hoseok is not your equal in your kingdom, nor will he ever be. In the world you live in at large, men rule most of it. But Hekatalia is a kingdom that run by the women more often than not, your father had been the first Witch King in over 1000 years.

As such, Hoseok will never be king here, in fact he will always be your Prince Consort. But in his kingdom, you will be his Queen Consort, of an equal ranking to him. He doesn’t care about this, and he’s made it clear on more than one occasion that he doesn’t care. You like that about him, that he isn’t interested in the power that will be bestowed to him.

“You will make a good king Hoseok, despite your concerns. You are kind and caring. Yet strong and not afraid to bring down justice when needed. I could not be prouder to call you husband.” You grin at him and watch as his already reddened cheeks from the heat flush even further.

His pink tongue flicks out to wetten his lips before a hand pushes at the wet strands of his hair, moving it backwards until his entire forehead is on show. You murmur approvingly before looking back into his eyes, noting the deep brown that has a slightly reddish tinge to it now.

Hoseok says nothing further, but instead leans forward until he captures your lips in a kiss between his own. The kiss earlier had been innocent and full of longing, but this has a decidedly different tone to it.

Hot and needy, with the passion of six months celibacy sparking between the two of you. Each movement of his lips is perfect, with just enough pressure to make you want more and you can’t stop the soft moan as your lips open up to his.

His response is immediate, with his tongue dipping into your mouth and dancing with your own in a sensual game that you had both begun decades before. The dance is familiar and yet tinged with anticipation and need, each stroke of the wet muscle against your sensitive mouth pulling a corresponding convulsion of your inner muscles between your thighs.

You respond to his movement, shifting your body until your legs slip under the hot water, moving so that your knees rest against the tight space on either side of his body while your arms wrap around his neck. His sharp incisors, elongated from his heightened emotions, accidentally nick your tongue. The pain is fleeting and an unfortunate price to pay for kissing a vampire but you can’t it in yourself to care.

Not when the growl he releases sounds like it has been ripped from the bottom of his chest, guttural and vibrating against your tongue as he sucks it into his mouth at the small taste of your blood. It may not be the prettiest kiss to witness, but it is pure attraction and desire between the two of you as you moan and pant, grinding your hips against his groin.

The wet nightgown sticks to you above the water, but below it floats aimlessly while your panties are almost tantalising in the friction they’re producing against your clit. Hoseok’s hardness is pressing firmly against you in the water and you can’t stop the way you press against him, hips moving forwards and backwards with desperation as your stomach tightens.

Pulling away from you with an almost audible noise, Hoseok breathes heavily as he looks up at you with ruby red eyes. “Wife...you taste so good.” He gasps out, his fangs lenghtened to their full length and you can’t help the shiver of fear that runs down your spine. Even after all these years, the instinct that has been bred into you tells you to run.

It just makes the sex better.

“Have you fed?” You whisper, pressing needy kisses to whatever skin you can reach on his face and he lets out a low groan that’s bordering on a whine as you grind your scalding heat against his thickness. His head shakes a negative and you bite your lip in response, reaching down to tug off your nightgown and throwing it over the side where it lands in a wet heap.

“Feed then husband. What kind of wife would I be if I did not make sure my husband was cared for?” You whisper into his ear, kissing along the exposed skin there and delighting in the salty taste of his sweat. He practically purrs in response, his hands moving up from your waist to cup your breasts while his thumbs play with your hardened nipples.

“I have missed this, wife.” Hoseok grins, looking up at you with eyes that should terrify. Instead, you lean down and press a quick kiss to his mouth before moving along his jawline, sucking open mouthed kisses there while pushing at his head.

He doesn’t bite though, and instead one hand drops below the water without you realising. Instead, you feel the sudden pressure of his fingers against the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs, the pads swirling around the bud in a pleasing manner that has your hips jerking and a cry leaving your mouth.

“Oh Hoseok, goddess yes.” You breathe out, head tilting back as he plays with your clit slowly. Hoseok doesn’t move fast, instead letting his fingertips press against you in firm and measured movements that makes sparks of pleasure zip through your body with each rotation.

Moving his head, Hoseok presses his lips to your collarbone and sucks hard at the skin, leaving rosettes of bruises that will have to be covered up tomorrow no doubt. You find it hard to care though when he slips a long finger inside of you, your inner muscles contracting greedily around him as he strokes along your insides in a slow and steady pace, exploring a place he knows well yet hasn’t been acquainted with in so long.

“More.” You whine, high pitched with need and he acquiesces with a dark chuckle, tongue laving attention to a particular spot on your neck. A second finger enters you, scissoring for a moment to stretch you in a way that you gasping and gripping his shoulders firmly before he’s twisting the long digits in a pleasing manner.

As he moves his hand, water slaps against the side of the tub from your insistent hips that angle and move to try and get the most pleasure you can, while his arm moving causes its own ripples corresponding ripples. Carding your fingers through his damp hair, you press his head further against you.

It’s as his fingers press firmly against the roughened bunch of nerves on your inner wall, the sensation causing fireworks of sparkling pleasure to erupt in your body as you clench around him, that he bites. The combination of his talented fingers, his thumb working insistently on your swollen clit and the pinch of pain from your throat sends you clean over the edge.

Body jerking wildly, you cry out in the throes of pleasure as you contract around his fingers with a vice like grip. With your hips gyrating wildly from the force of your pleasure, Hoseok has to work hard to stay in control as he continues to stroke you through your orgasm until you’re whining with tears from the over stimulation.

The whole time, he’s sucking at the twin marks he’s made in your neck as he feeds. Quiet groans of delight leave him as his throat works, swallowing your blood while he finally stills those talented fingers inside you.

Hoseok had to feed at least once a week, and you used to have a servant agree to do it. Over the last few decades however, you just claimed to have a servant do it when in fact, you fed him. No one had ever caught on, as no servant ever wanted to admit to being fed on by a vampire.

It was only with you that he used sex though, and he admitted that it wasn’t only for his own sexual needs. Pleasure, apparently, saturated the blood with a rich flavouring that made it even more delightful and pleasing than normal. He’d compared it to soaking a fine joint of meat in an aged wine.

Licking at the bite marks he’d caused, Hoseok remains with his mouth against your neck for a moment as you both breathe heavily, catching your breath. Running your fingers through his hair, you tug lightly until he looks at you with a lazy gaze, eyes glossed over with the satisfaction of a good feed.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask, moving against his thick length as you wince from the overwhelming sensation. He’s silent for a moment before shaking his head, giving you a smile that reveals normally white teeth stained red while his lips are cherry red.

“No. I’m okay. That was good enough for me.” Hoseok slurs, tongue licking along his teeth and removing some of the blood. You chuckle lightly, your own limbs feeling heavy from his feeding as you rest your cheek against his shoulder.

Feeding Hoseok often left you tired, a result of the loss of blood, and it often left Hoseok blood drunk. He said it was because of the pleasure, which was not only more flavourful but also acted in a similar fashion to alcohol and left him in a slightly inebriated mind.

His own cheek rests against your head lightly, the both of you too tired from your activities in the cooling water. “We should move.” Hoseok murmurs, the sound quiet and filled with sleepiness. Smiling, you heave yourself out of the water and encourage him out too.

He’s wobbly on his legs, but you both manage to get to the large bed where you slump under the covers, the thick comforters hiding you both from the world and making a small cocoon of warmth and love. Hoseok does nothing for a moment before he’s rolling onto his side, tugging you over to him and pressing your back to his front.

Smiling softly, you feel him press a firm kiss to your hair before you slip into a comfortable sleep in the arms of your husband.

The first week of reunion with Hoseok passes by quickly, and as usual it is a stressful yet pleasurable time. Six months of celibacy and longing often combine in explosive results in the bedroom, a spell to mute noise often necessary to hide the moans and groans of desire and need that seep into the walls.

It meant that it was often hard to focus on your work, particularly when you had the knowledge that your husband was right there. Meals were often strained and awkward, filled with a tension that your servants assumed to be irritation when in fact it was clenched thighs, whispered spells of touches and glares that promised retribution when you returned to your rooms.

But still, life would not stop with the arrival of your husband and you were forced to continue on with your daily activities. Tuesday’s were for meeting your advisors and discussing the general issues that were causing a problem amongst the citizens of your kingdom.

Wednesday’s were spent receiving updates about the neighbouring kingdoms and those further afield, learning the newest information that filtered through from both natural channels and those more secretive ones.

Thursday’s were the day that your subjects were allowed to seek an audience with you, proposing solutions to problems or presenting conflicts that they wanted you to resolve. It was often tedious, and some days you just wanted to stay in bed or go to your garden and be done with it all.

But that was not what a monarch did.

This was precisely the reason that Hoseok always had to make the journey to Hekatalia, for the vampire prince was not needed in his kingdom to the degree that you were. You, however, were most definitely needed to keep order. Not to mention that you couldn’t stray too far from the Ancient Oak for too long, which served not only as a site of marriage but also as a natural connection to the source of magic.

As such, the first week was filled with sex of all kinds until you had both gotten it out of your systems before you both settled into the comfortable, yet confined, life you had both adjusted to over the years.

Your time with Hoseok was often limited to behind the doors of your bedroom, and you so desperately wished for more with him. As a queen, you never expected to have a normal relationship. But you certainly expected to at least be able to touch him in public.

Your hope that your relationship would be accepted increased every year with the gradual acceptance of your husband. He wasn’t welcome in discussions with your advisors, but he had slowly begun to take on more a role expected of a Prince Consort and to your delight, he was not being pushed away.

But you were still unsure as to public displays of affection.

Which is why if you hadn’t favoured Soyeon before, then you most certainly did when she informed you that she had managed to secure you an entire afternoon and evening free of obligations after two months had passed. A whole half of a day that could be spent with Hoseok alone, which was more time in one go than you’d experienced in ten years.

Excitement had bubbled in your stomach as the both of you had mounted your horses. You had decided to take him on a ride to get him out of the castle, to go somewhere where you truly would not be bothered by prying eyes. As such, a black cloak was wrapped around your shoulders while the hood covered head and a dark green scarf was raised over your lower face.

Hoseok had frowned at the regalia as he’d donned his own cloak and scarlet red scarf, the colour making his beauty even more apparent even if you could only see his eyes, but you’d reassured him it was fine. This was the standard attire of travellers in Hekatalia, and no one would raise a brow at the sight of you both.

He’d bowed his head in acknowledgement, acquiescing to you and your knowledge before a click of his tongue and a tap of his heels encouraged his tall, steel grey steed into a brisk walk, hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestones. Nodding towards Soyeon, you reached out and clasped her hand tightly while you thanked her and promised that you would both be back by nightfall.

She smiled at you, bowing her head down and returning to the castle as you encouraged your own dark bay mare after your husband. You liked to ride when you had time, and the prospect of riding with your husband had an almost childish feeling bubbling your stomach. Trotting to catch up, you noted with pleasure the exquisite picture he drew as he rode with a confidence that told of years of riding experience.

Black breeches clung to his toned legs, muscles that had been gained from years upon years of exercise while his familiar knee high leather boots rested against the horse’s side. He sat straight as an arrow, his riding posture textbook perfect as the leather reins sat in his hands lightly.

Perhaps no one would give you a second glance given your attire, but they might give a second glance given his posture. There was no doubt that Hoseok was a man who had been trained extensively on how to ride a horse, his breeding showing despite the hood that covers him.

It was unbelievably sexy for some reason though, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip breathlessly as you finally caught up to him. Your husband often managed to turn you in ways that you hadn’t thought were even turn ons until he appeared in your life. Even before you’d confessed your feelings to each other fifty years ago.

He looks over with a dark brow raised in question at your expression and you stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his chocolate half-moon eyes that soften as he watches you in turn. Without a word, he reaches over and clasps a hand with one of yours, squeezing tightly before letting go.

Smiling to yourself beneath the scarf, your shoulders straighten as you feel a weight being lifted off them. Taking the lead, you keep on riding until you finally direct Hoseok to the Oak Grove that holds the Ancient Oak your race reveres so much.

Due to being a vampire, Hoseok was often confined to the castle even more than you were when he was here. Though he had no actual restrictions on him, it your people were not very likely to accept him walking around freely, and so he voluntarily chose to stay within the castle walls.

It surely had to drive him mad to not do the activities he was so used to, but he simply shrugged and pointed out that he had no choice, so there was no point in whining. Though you had noted in recent years that he had slowly begun to venture further in the grounds, and he had even gone to the village at the foot of the castle last month.

There had been no screaming or fear from your subjects, and it had warmed you to hope that perhaps they may be accepting him finally. Stil, his lack of knowledge outside of the castle walls meant that he had no idea where anything was and so he willingly followed you with trust.

Turning, you watch as he catches sight of the giant tree that takes up most of the clearing, his eyes widening as he takes it in. The surrounding forest is even taller, forming a perfect circle of protection around the tree that provided your people with life sustaining magic.

The pillowy soft grass blew softly in the gentle breeze, bringing with it the scent of flowers and rain. It hadn’t rained in days, yet you knew the magic of the Oak Grove meant that strange things happened sometimes.

“Isn’t that…” He trails off, slowing his horse down with a gentle tug on the reins until his stallion stops, head shaking in annoyance and jangling the metal bit in his mouth. You watch for a moment before smiling, tugging down your scarf and nodding.

“It is. This is where we got married. It’s a sacred place to witches, and we shall find peace and quiet here tonight.” You grin at him, swinging a leg over your mares rump and landing in the grass with a soft thud. Bringing her over to a branch of a nearby tree that was often used to hitch horses, you watch as Hoseok does the same while looking around the grove in fascination.

“But...won’t people be coming here to get married?” Hoseok asks in confusion, brows creasing and his lips moving into a pout as he lowers his own scarf. Moving over to him, you slide your hands under his cloak and jacket until you’re hugging him tightly, resting your chin against his chest with a sweet smile.

“Nope. All marriages have to be approved by the Witch Court and overseen by a priestess, and there are none scheduled for today. Soyeon checked and double checked. The Ancient Oak is sacred to my people and is one of the major source points for our magic, so it is strictly prohibited to be here when there is no marriage taking place.”

He looks around for a moment, mahogany eyes taking in the impressive sight. You love to come here when he’s back in Sanguinus, the area quiet and peaceful. The magic here tingles on your skin, like tiny kisses of appreciation from nature and you look around, trying to see it how he does.

The tall forest that surrounds you cuts off a large portion of light, sunbeams drifting down lazily through the canopy. There’s enough light here to see easily though, but the Oak Grove needs no sun to look beautiful. The very magic that sustains your race causes the Ancient Oak to emit an ethereal glow, the wood almost tinged in a blue-white light while the leaves are dotted with tiny sparks of light that twinkle at all times of day.

A small smile tugs at Hoseok’s lips before he looks back down at you with a sardonic expression. “Except for the queen I’m guessing?”

You laugh lightly at his words, pulling away before taking his hand and twining your fingers together firmly. Hoseok immediately grips it tighter and you can’t help but feel happiness and contentment bubble in your veins at being able to do this out in the open.

What must it feel like? To love him freely?

“Of course. I am connected to this tree as the medium of magic for witchkind, so therefore I am allowed here whenever I so feel like,” Turning around, you walk backwards with a small hop of joy as you give him the brightest smile of glee that produces a responding expression from him almost involuntarily. “And I wanted to bring my husband here. I don’t get to give you anything in the castle...but I can bring you to one of the most important and sacred places to me here.”

Sitting down amongst the roots of the solid tree, dragging your fingers through the rich soil with reverance, you watch as he stands with hands on his hips and looks up at the arching branches with a soft smile.

“I hated this place when I first came here, perhaps unsurprisingly. This tree was the representation of everything I should despise as a vampire. The source of your magic and the source of my pain being wedded to you. Vampires for centuries have plotted how to destroy this you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment, reaching out and placing a hand on the wizened trunk, stroking along the bark slowly. Biting your lip, you look from his neutral face to his hand. “And now?”

He says nothing before letting out a quiet snort of laughter, kneeling down in the fragrant blades of grass to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “Now? I see its beauty; the strength in its age and the sensation of sheer power it gives. It’s truly a physical representation of you. And I love it, because you love it and I love you. And even though I was angry that day, this tree oversaw the most important day of my life.”

Hoseok sits next to you, resting his back against the old trunk and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. For minutes, neither of you speak in the comfortable silence that falls between the two of you. You focus simply on the soothing sensation of his fingers as they trace invisible words against your arm while the forest sings a gentle song for you both.

“Show me some magic, wife.” He whispers into your ear, his cool nose pressing against your temple momentarily before warm lips replace it. You didn’t perform magic very often, which was probably a surprise to the other kingdoms. But you simply didn’t feel a need, and it was rude to use it unnecessarily. Which meant Hoseok hadn’t witnessed many spells from you over the years.

But you feel like pleasing him today, wanting to impress him with something pretty that wouldn’t pull too much energy. Whispering a quiet request to the Ancient Oak you’re pressed against, you breathe a simple spell under your breath.

Immediately, tiny balls of light drift down from the leaves above you to form the impression of two people, standing together in a handfasting ceremony. You don’t need to explain to him who it is a representation of, and instead you both watch quietly as the couple lean forward and kiss.

“I wish I had kissed you back then, though it would have seemed strange. I wish I could kiss you now, in public.” Hoseok sighs, sadness weaving its way in and you resolve to make him smile. Shifting around, you playfully bite at his neck with your blunt incisors, the sensation probably just a tickle to him compared to his sharp teeth.

Sure enough, he lets out a giggle that’s far too cute for a man as regal as him before wrapping his arms tightly around shoulders and chest, trapping you between his thighs as he shifts. His hands move down to your sides, insistent fingers tickling along the sensitive areas and causing you to almost shriek with laughter.

The sounds of glee and happiness echo around the quiet grove, and you feel a shift in the magic around you. It’s fond and filled with a sense of joy at the love between yourself and your husband. Your stomach twists with cheer at the knowledge that nature approves.

After a few minutes of laughter and play, you lean against him as you both take a breather. He presses a kiss to your neck softly before letting his fangs run over your skin, the sharpness almost a scratch over the delicate flesh.

“You’re adorable, with your little baby fangs. In fact, they’re not even baby fangs. Vampire children have sharper teeth than that.” He teases, letting his lips press against the soft skin there. You smile and click your fingers, causing him to yelp as a zing of magic zaps his ass.

“Mean,” He mutters before kissing your neck once more, his hands stroking along your stomach lowly. “I wonder what our children’s teeth would look like.” The words are quiet, almost as if he spoke them out loud without thinking.

The way you both freeze suddenly let you think that is likely exactly what happens before he’s squeezing tight, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Children remained a sore point between the two of you. It was something neither of you had ever truly considered when you had first wedded, the thought of sleeping with him abhorrent. It had remained a non-thought for thirty years once you finally got together, until twenty years ago when you had both decided to try.

A pregnancy had occurred almost immediately, pleasing the both of you while simultaneously terrifying you. It was understood between you both that Hoseok would only see his child half of the year, but the two of you had wanted so badly to have a family. Upon learning of your pregnancy, the two of you had agreed to announce it, and your feelings, to both kingdoms at the halfway stage.

There was little chance of miscarriage at that point, and it had been an exciting prospect. A child would surely unify both races, or at least be a good starting point to true reconciliation.

And so at the three month mark, Hoseok had left back to Sanguinus in his carriage and you had watched from your window, a hand resting on your flat stomach. The knowledge that he would likely be back in time for the birth had been a consolation, even if he was sad to not experience the joys of watching you grow fat and heavy with his child.

And then the curse had kicked in.

It had been a heavy heart, and heavier tears, that you had written to your husband. The note had been simple, coded in case anyone read it due to the rarity of correspondence between you both.

‘Dear Husband,

The little bird did not make it. No spell could combat the curse that took it.

I am sorry.’

Neither of you had considered the curse in terms of children. Not until it was too late. Not until you were no longer pregnant.

The curse demanded that you spend six months apart, causing physical pain to ensure it was obeyed. As his child, the babe in your stomach was half him and the curse could not distinguish between this. The pain had not been as strong as it was with Hoseok himself, but it had been too much for the tiny life you’d carried.

You had mourned for six months, until he had arrived and then you had mourned with him in private. There had never been another attempt, and there likely never would be. Your dreams of a family had died that day.

Resting a hand on his arm, you cuddle further into him before taking a deep breath. You have not spoken of children in twenty years. “I think they would be heart wrenchingly adorable, with tiny fangs and little spells that would pop and crack.”

As you speak, the lights spin in a dizzying dance before forming two small children. The both of you watch in a despondent silence as they bound along the meadow sweet grass, a simple and sweet dream that cannot ever be.

Hoseok doesn't say anything for a few long minutes, only swallowing thickly. “You would have made a wonderful mother. I still regret asking you to do it, the pain you suffered while I was not there. It wasn't worth it.”

Shaking your head, you shift in his arms until you can see his arresting profile. His eyes are a low, dull red that glisten in the evening sun that peeks through the trunks of the forest.

“No, don't say that. It hurt, but we were happy in that moment. Let's not resent the young one we were forced to lose.” Resting a hand against his chest, you press your forehead to the warm skin of his neck and inhale the soothing scent.

You both simply rest there after that, neither feeling in the mood to interrupt the sad stillness in the air with another topic. The unfortunate fact, is that no matter how much you love each other, your story will always be one of sadness and heartache, tinged with loneliness.

“Would you like to dance?” Hoseok speaks suddenly, the question hovering in the air. Looking up, you note his gaze focused firmly on the light children while a sombre expression is painted on his beautiful face.

Biting your lip, your own gaze tracks around the quiet clearing. “Are you sure? I mean...if you are too upset...and we have no music.”

Your husband laughs darkly before nuzzling your hair affectionately. “This is supposed to be a place of happiness. Let's not sour your sacred tree with sad thoughts. And fear not my queen, we have never had anything but each other. We shall make our own music.”

He stands at that, hands dusting off his breeches before he reaches out one hand to you, pose elegant even when he doesn't intend it to. Looking into his eyes, softened by your mutual sad memories, you nod once before letting him pull you up.

The two of you move into a ballroom dance position with the ease of decades of training, but when you dance it's with the slow passion of lovers. He doesn’t swing you into a complicated waltz or anything, but simply rocks you in a slow circle, his hand running along the laces of your dress at the small of your back reassuringly while his cheek rests on your head.

“I love you. I don't feel that I tell you that often enough. I don't get the chance to tell you that often enough. But I do. I love you fiercely, and if I could find a way to end the curse I would.” Hoseok's voice is quiet, yet strained with emotion he can't possibly vocalise.

Emotion that resonates in your chest almost painfully nonetheless.

“I know. I know Hoseok. I love you just as strongly. It is so hard, to not ask how you are when dealing with your delegation. To find out if you are sad or happy. I wish we could end the curse too, but you know as well as I do that it would just result in more war.” The words are hushed and you cannot help the silent tears that track down your face.

Hoseok holds you even tighter as the light children skip by you, his gaze focused firmly on them and when he speaks, his voice cracks. “I want a life with you so badly. I want to raise a family with you. Neither of us started the war, so why must we be punished even though we have fallen in love? Isn't that the ultimate unification? I wish I could find the Faerie Queen and request an audience, plead our case to her and beg for her to let us love each other openly and permanently.”

You sniffle at his words, bringing your hand up to wipe at your tears pitifully before reaching up to pull his head down till he's resting on your shoulder. The dampness of your dress let's you know he's crying too and you curse anyone you can think of for causing him pain.

What good is being the Witch Queen if you can't even solve your husbands sadness?

“She would never do that Hoseok. It's a punishment, remember? She’d probably laugh with delight at our pain.” He says nothing, acknowledging your words with his silence.

Placing your hands on his slim waist, you begin to hum a witch children's nursery rhyme to him while rocking him in slow and steady motions. He doesn't move at first, but eventually gives in and let's you dance with him in the quiet clearing.

“Let’s not cry anymore husband. You said so yourself, this is a happy place. Dance with me freely, while we have the chance to just be ourselves.” You plead softly, kissing his temple and letting your lips remain there until he lifts himself up with a nod.

Hoseok doesn't say anything further, simply dances with you slowly in the shadow of the Ancient Oak while the tiny children of light dance around your legs playfully.

If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine it was perfect, and you vowed to find a way to dance with him in the way you both wanted.

Something that had been at the forefront of your mind for a while, had been been the fact that this year marked your 100th anniversary with Hoseok. Neither of you had celebrated a single anniversary in the past, mainly because the day Hoseok arrived was always the day the curse activated and so you both were more concerned with getting him rest.

But this year, you’d wanted to celebrate it in some way at least. It was an important milestone, not only in your relationship with each other but also in the relations between both kingdoms. Your anniversary had marked one hundred years of peace between the vampires and witches, and you had decided before he had even arrived to finally celebrate this.

Not only this, but his sadness in the Oak Grove had spurred you on to do something to make him happy, to bring a smile to his face and show him that you loved him and cared for him. It was hard to do that most of the time, with public displays of affection almost impossible.

The time there had inspired you though, and as such you had arranged for an event to occur in the final week of Hoseok’s time here. He had been made completely unaware of it through a lot of subtle subterfuge and instead you had worked behind the scenes with your advisors and event organisers.

The result had culminated in today. You were pleased beyond words that Hoseok hadn’t clicked onto what was happening, instead just presuming that your event meetings were something to do with governance. The peril of having a wife who was a ruler perhaps.

Still, he’d likely just been expecting another day of wandering the castle at his leisure or something. Apparently, he’d made friends with the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and was on the verge of being allowed to participate in military drills on the castle grounds.

It was almost sweet how excited he’d got when telling you, and your heart had overflowed with warmth for him at the fact he seemed to have finally made a friend of some sort here after so long. As your Captain, you were well acquainted with Jungkook, and knew him to be young but well trained and with a good soul and heart.

His father had been the Captain for your own, finally retiring ten years ago to spend more time with his aging family. Jungkook, already heavily involved in the Hekatalian Army, had simply slotted into place with ease. He’d practically been bred for it, with incredibly strong battle magic to boot.

As such, you had grown to know him well when discussing your military and regimental training for the soldiers who resided here in the castle. He was a sweet guy beneath the regalia, and you knew that he was exceptionally easy to get on with which made you feel comfortable in the knowledge that he’d taken Hoseok under his wing.

Hoseok had actually woken you up today though with soft kisses that brushed along your shoulder lightly, the sensation almost tickling. You’d thought for a moment that perhaps he was just feeling amorous, he often was in the morning, but instead he’d kept his touches innocent and sweet.

Once he’d been sure you’d fully woken, a content hum leaving your throat as you cuddled closer into his warmth, he’d laid his head back down on the pillow and ran his hand along your exposed stomach. “There’s a lot of activity in this castle this morning wife.”

You make a faux surprised sound, recognising from his tone that he knows somethings up. While your castle is always busy, you have no doubt that there are even more servants hurrying around today than normal. They had a ballroom to decorate and exquisite meals to cook for the guests who would be arriving later today. Given his enhanced senses, he could probably hear all the hustle and bustle around the place.

Rolling in his arms, you gaze at him wide eyed with an innocence he is evidently not falling for given his narrowed eyes. “I don’t know husband. Why is there more activity than normal?” You ponder playfully, tapping your lips before grinning as he begins to tickle you mercilessly.

“Wife. What is happening?” He laughs out, kissing your cheek when you both finish. You simply watch him for a moment, giving him adoring eyes as you note the flyaway strands of his hair from where it has fallen after his sleep.

Tugging him back down, you face him quietly for a moment as you slide a leg between his own. He shivers slightly at your cold feet, giving you a slight glare but says nothing further as he waits for you to speak.

“We are hosting a ball today. A masquerade ball.” You smile at him, watching as those strong brows come together in confusion. If you looked hard enough, you could probably see his brain working behind those pretty eyes of his.

“Why? It’s just a Saturday, unless there’s some special event I’m not aware of?” After one hundred years of living in Hekatalia for half a year at at time, Hoseok had long grown used to the cultural holidays and events that witches celebrated. He particularly enjoyed Summer Solstice, and often lamented on the fact he could never experience a Winter Solstice with you.

“Well...I don’t know if you remember but this year marks one hundred since the curse was activated. A hundred years of peace between the races and kingdoms. And one hundred years since we married. So I organised a masquerade ball to celebrate this and have invited members from all kingdoms to join us. We have werewolves, faeries and representatives from Sanguinus here too.” He looks at you with eyes that are wide with shock.

“Really? And they’re all coming here? Wow, you’re being brave hoping no one will fight.” He chuckles, the corner of his lips turning up in amusement as he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Well...that’s why it’s a masquerade ball. So no one can tell who is what. Instead, it will just be a joining of peoples to celebrate a monumental achievement,” You pause for a moment before leaning over to press a sweet kiss to his shoulder. “And it also means that we can dance in public. With a legitimate excuse. No one will complain about the queen and her prince consort dancing at a ball to celebrate one hundred years of marriage.”

He looks at you slowly, and you can see the flurry of emotions painting across his face. It’s something that you’ve both wanted to do for so long and your stomach flutters at the prospect of being able to show him of like you have always wanted, even if no one realises that there is true love hidden beneath the faux smiles.

“I can dance with you? When others can see?” The soft and hesitant tone to his voice breaks your heart, causing you to lift yourself until your lips are pressed together in a kiss that is chaste but full of love.

“Yes my love. For a night, we can pretend.” He gives a bright smile then, his entire face lighting up with a sense of joy and merriment that makes you feel content with life. There’s something particularly satisfying about making him smile, and you’re sure that one day you will figure out what that is. But for now, you just enjoy making him happy when you can.

Climbing out of bed, you head towards the door that separates your rooms before turning and giving him a mysterious smile that has a brow rising as he sits up. There’s a pause as you simply admire the stunningly beautiful sight your husband makes on the bed, the red silk sheets giving him a sultry look.

“Attendants will be coming to get a suit and mask sorted for you for the ball. I have meetings to attend unfortunately as the kingdom waits for no ball, but I shall meet you at the staircase tonight. I apologise that we cannot eat together, but there will be food being served at the ball we can partake,” You let your eyes drag over his body slowly, sucking your lip between your teeth and letting it out slowly to let him see how he affects you. “I expect you to be looking particularly handsome tonight.”

He gives a wicked grin, fangs lengthening before your eyes while his eyes spark with a crimson flash. “I will make sure to put extra effort into my appearance. We wouldn’t want it to look like the witch queen has a poor husband now.”

You simply laugh as he wiggles his brows before exiting to your room, excitement for the evening bubbling in your stomach.

Your day passes slowly as a result of your enthusiasm, and you can tell that your advisors are amused at your unusually happy demeanour. You’re normally far more careful to maintain a queenly expression when dealing with kingdom matters, even if you spend more time with these people than you do your own husband.

But the elation you feel at finally being able to celebrate your relationship with your husband in public, even if people think it only fake, is too much. To the point that you find yourself not concentrating on your duties and instead decide to postpone your meeting, allowing your advisors an early day to spend with their families or alternatively prepare for the festivities tonight.

Instead, you head towards the ballroom and take in the preparations for yourself. All around you, witches spell decorations to fly into place, sticking to the wall or hovering in the air perfectly. It’s been a long time since you had hosted any sort of event, and it all fills your veins with fizzing excitement at it all.

“Your Majesty, the preparations are almost complete. Will you accompany me back to your rooms and we can have you fitted into your outfit while we make sure your hair and makeup is perfect.” Soyeon smiles at your demurely, bowing slightly as she walks up to you where you stood in the middle of the hall.

Looking down at her, you give a nod of your head and smile back as you follow, hurrying your pace until you are walking abreast with your beloved servant. “Did you follow my advice?” You ask quietly, keeping your voice low so that others waking past.

Soyeon glances to you out of the corner of her eye and you spy the smile of glee that she fights to hold in. Almost immediately, responding excitement bubbles in your stomach and you can’t help but grab at her arm lightly as you giggle.

“Oh, I hope your dress is beautiful. You will look phenomenal Soyeon, truly. What if you find a man tonight? Or a woman? Don’t forget about me when you’re all loved up!” You pout at her playfully, causing her to roll her eyes while a flush of red brushes her cheeks prettily.

“I doubt that will happen Your Majesty. The dress is adequate and I will just enjoy my time there. Thank you for letting me have the night to myself, and for inviting me to the ball. I can never tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.” She whispers fervently, eyes flicking around the hallway to see if there is anyone who could see your affection.

There would likely be people who became jealous and bitter at how you favoured Soyeon, but you were reaching the point where you were beyond caring what others thought. When you were going to live as long as you were, surely there came a point when others opinions would matter little?

Entering your rooms, you pause to glance at the closed wooden door that separated your rooms and bit your lips with a sigh. Soyeon waits for a moment before pressing a hand to your lower back, encouraging you into the room where she begins to undress you quickly.

“I’m sure he will look beautiful, Your Majesty. Prince Hoseok is a handsome man, and you are an incredibly lucky woman.” She murmurs as she carefully folds your dress, ready for it to back into your closet.

Standing before her in simply your underwear, you watch as she takes a new corset out of your wardrobe and wraps it around your waist, tugging at the laces tightly until you are grunting out from the force. Idle talk is made between you both as she continues on, piecing together a dress of sumptuous ruby red that had been outlined in subtle, shimmering silver.

It’s only once your dress is finally complete, giving her a final spin to get the nod of approval, that you sit and allow her to arrange your hair to perfection. Tiny silver flowers get dotted throughout before she sits an exquisite diadem on your forehead, resting the ends in your hair.

The final touch is your makeup, and once she has finished painting a masterpiece on your face, you stand and admire her work in the mirror after she places the mask on you. It’s red, with silver glittering through in elegant lines and covers the portion of your face from your nose to just above your eyebrows. Giving her a huge grin, you turn slowly and admire everything she has put together.

“Perfect Soyeon, you have a true eye for fashion and makeup. Now go, you must get ready yourself. I can make my way to the staircase, he should be waiting by now.” You peer at the clock on the mantlepiece, noting the time is past when you had asked him to wait.

A quick glance out of the window lets you see carriages slowly filtering through the courtyard and guests dressed in the finest dresses and suits entering the castle. Smiling to yourself, you rest a hand on your chest as you watch for a few moments before looking yourself over in the mirror once more.

The dress is cinched in at the waist, your curves emphasised by the corset while your breasts are more prominent than they would normally be due to cut of the material. Silk is smooth and cool to your touch as you run your fingers along the material that rests at your stomach, noting with pleasure the way the dress flatters your figure.

Tonight, there will be no brows raised at your choice to wear silver and red. For it would be expected to wear the colours of both kingdoms, given that this is a celebration of peace between the two.

Making your way through the hallways, you tilt your head when you begin to hear the soft sounds of a string quartet filtering through the quietness and you can’t help the sway of your hips to the sounds. As you near, the music gets louder along with raucous laughter and constant talking between your guests.

Reaching the top of the elegant marble staircase that takes up the grand entrance, you pause for a moment to rest a hand on the marble edging and look over the room. The crystal chandelier is glowing with a beautiful luminance, casting shadows that are thrown around the room beautifully while more candles light up every corner below.

The center of the room has now been taken up with an elegant ice sculpture, a replica of the Ancient Oak that inhabits the Oak Grove. A few guests entering through the doors notice you above them and you spy as they immediately begin to gossip amongst themselves while giving you a courteous bow of the head.

But your attention is caught immediately by the lone figure at the bottom of the stairs to your right, his figure straight and regal. His outfit matches yours perfectly, with black trousers clinging to his legs and black leather boots winding their way up his calves, silver buckles and lining matching the deep red laces.

His waistcoat is charcoal while his shirt looks to be black silk, an equally dark tie around his neck that fits perfectly. A deep, velvet crimson jacket sits on his shoulders and you smile at the silver and black patterns that run through it subtly. Hoseok’s own mask is a perfectly replica of your own, and you feel pride at the knowledge that no one would ever mistake you both as being anything other than the couple of importance tonight.

Ignoring the guests as they arrive, you keep your gaze firmly on him as he rolls his head on his shoulders to relieve some tension before he lets out a sigh you could probably hear if you had his senses. But then he pauses, and you can tell he’s spotted you.

Almost immediately, a bright smile takes over the only part of his face that is visible and your stomach twists pleasantly at the sight. Ideally, he shouldn’t look too happy to see you but you find yourself uncaring as you slowly make your way down the stairs, one hand holding your skirts to keep them from trailing while the other glides along the bannister.

Hoseok moves to greet you immediately, bowing low until you reach him upon which he reaches out for your hand. Placing it within his, you give him a simple smile that tells him so much and he grins in response as he wraps your arm around his.

“You look beautiful wife.” He whispers, his voice as low as he can make it while still ensuring that you win. As he speaks, he glances around for any other vampires but it’s futile with the masks that cover everyone’s faces.

“And so do you husband. I’m glad that you followed my request.” You tease lightly, voice bubbly with glee and he lets out a low laugh as his head nods forward, his perfectly styled hair swept off his forehead.

“Of course. Shall we enter our ball Your Majesty?” He states loudly, drawing attention from those who are entering the castle for the first time. Smiling demurely at the crowd, you nod your head and move with him to the doors of the ballroom.

Inside, the room from earlier is ablaze with life and you pause to take it in. Thousands of candles hover high in the air, their wicks burning brightly in the final rays of evening sun that shines through the stained glass windows while their corresponding partners dot the room at various points.

All along the edges are tables and chairs, allowing guests the chance to sit and relax while the left side is taken up with one long table that is currently piled high with exquisite food. Almost instantly your mouth starts to water at the sight and you desperately want to pull Hoseok over there to eat, but you know that you must greet your guests first.

Decades of royalty training has imprinted wel upon Hoseok and you as you make your way around the room, talking to guests all of all walks of life and all races. The vampires are a little cold towards you but you are surprised by how genial they are overall, leaving you to wonder if perhaps the relations were always a little colder on your side than his.

Their conversations with you are geared more towards their surprise at exploring your kingdom, and you wonder how strange it must be to some of them. Travellers from Sanguinus and Hekatalia did not visit each others lands very often, and it was a tiny hope of yours that once relations warmed up between the two there could be the opportunity for more travelling.

Hoseok had told you many wonderful tales of the land Sanguinus held, from the rolling desert planes of the west to the rocky, snow topped mountains of the east. Hekatalia was not as diverse in its geography, and instead was simply covered in either forests or fields. Nature was simple here and had always been cultivated into magic used by its inhabitants.

Land like Hoseok’s was wilder, with the magic going haywire and causing vast differences in land and temperature. The way he talked about his home, and the wistfulness in his voice made you long to visit them so much. But you knew that was definitely impossible.

A queen simply did not take holidays in land that was not her own.

Your own subjects were polite towards Hoseok thankfully, giving him a regal bow and affording him the same respect they give you which pleases you. They don’t make for the most mentally stimulating conversations however. Unfortunately, most Hekatalian citizens are far too polite to spend too long talking to their queen.

If they spent too long with you, then it could look like you favour them over others which could generate a whole host of issues neither you nor they want.

It was the visitors from neither kingdom that are the nicest however, and you find yourself smiling truthfully when a group of werewolf guests compliment your home while also congratulating you both on a long marriage.

A rather upfront werewolf asks for a dance with you later and you cannot help the soft snort of laughter at his boldness. You don’t even need to look at your husband to see that he is bristling, metaphorical fur on edge as he gives the most polite and yet rudest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

He’s the perfect husband of a monarch however and says nothing that could be a diplomatic incident. Though you won’t lie, he probably didn’t endear himself either but the tenseness that you can feel in his arm lets you know it’s probably the best you’re going to be able to get with him.

The Master of Ceremonies officially announces the beginning to the ball and you watch from the side as couples from all over the room began to line up on the dance floor. Glancing to Hoseok, you noted the way his eyes focused firmly on the people dancing to the smooth beat of the music and give a small smile before nudging him gently.

“Would you like to dance husband?” You ask softly, your voice barely heard over the soaring music of the string quartet and the excitable chatter of the guests. He jerks at the sound of your voice, looking to you and you marvel for a moment at how astonishingly beautiful he looks. Even with half his face covered.

If anything, the mask makes the exquisite line of his jaw even more prominent and you swallow thickly at the sight of him in the golden glow of the nearby candles. His tongue flicks out, wetting those plush lips before his mouth kicks up into a tiny smile as he nods.

“I would be honoured, wife.” At that, he takes the lead and moves into the centre of the ballroom. Almost immediately, you feel the people surrounding you shift as awareness of who has entered their midst seeps in, but you can’t focus on anything other than Hoseok.

His spine is straight, and he almost towers above you in a manner that would be frightening if you didn’t know him. But the warm, tender way he rests his hand against your lower back and holds your other, with a touch more sensual than he perhaps should, has you feeling safe and protected by him.

You have no doubt that if anyone tried to hurt you right now, he would fight to his final breath to save you even if he is in the knowledge that you are more than capable yourself. A desperate urge rises within you suddenly, so deep and strong that you have to bite your lip to stop it, to rest your head against his enticing chest.

Instead, he leads you in a dance that is centuries old, his feet moving in perfect succession around the floor as you follow him with trained steps. You have no idea the spectacle you both make, and you don’t even notice the way people look between themselves with speculative brows raised.

You don’t know, because your gaze is firmly trapped in his like a moth to a flame. The ballroom almost goes hazy as you dance, bodies moving together as one until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. His own breath is coming a little faster from the exertion, but also from the sheer feelings you both portray with a simple gaze.

It would shock you both to see how you were dancing, as if no one else in the room even existed and with touches that spoke of an intimacy learnt over decades.

You both dance through endless songs, the hunger in your stomach battling with the need in your veins to take him away and let him savour you in a much more intimate way than the light affection he looks at you with now. In fact, it’s only when a passing dancer accidentally bumps into your back that the two of you are broken out of your reverie, blinking rapidly before looking away from each other with heated cheeks.

Pulling away, Hoseok quietly directs you to table of food that lines the side of the hall. Smiling at him shyly, you wonder if this is how lovers who court openly feel.

It’s at the table that you both fall back into your usual roles of cold politeness, the both of you separating to forage for food in an attempt to dispel any notions that your guests may have. From the furtive glances between you both, you worry for a moment that perhaps you may have a problem on your hand with gossip.

Gossip tended to twist things into negativity, and most stories became wildly obscure compared to their origins. There was every chance that after tonight, you could have five secret love children with him if you were not careful.

Though positive reception to that would perhaps precipitate being open about your relationship.

In an effort to deflect any attention, you spend the next hour moving from one group of people to the next on your own, giving genial smiles and accepting compliments about your home, your kingdom, the ball and your husband with a grace that has been trained into you since birth.

It is tiring however, and you forgot how intensive events such as balls are. A quick glance at the grand clock that hangs on the centre wall lets you know that you have been here for three hours already and the soreness of your feet tell you that it has been a very long three hours. You have the biggest urge to simply throw your heels away and go barefoot, but that would most definitely raise brows amongst the aristocracy who dance and chat around you.

“You look tired Your Majesty,” Comes a deep voice from next to you, and you look across with a carefully blank expression. It’s the wolf from before, the only giveaway to his identity being the extravagant black and white mask that only covers half of his face. You presume him to be handsome underneath the mask, given the beautiful jawline you can see at the moment. “But would it be remiss of me to request that dance I asked for earlier?”

He holds out a hand and you pause, eyes flickering around to find Hoseok only to fail in finding the black, silver and red outfit anywhere. Bowing your head regally, you place your hand in his own and allow him to lead you out to the dance floor.

The song now is slower, more suited to intimate couples you note as you look around you and you feel a pang in your stomach for your husband. You would love to be able to slow dance with him around the hall, but figure that you have danced enough with him for the moment.

It certainly would not take a genius to note the difference in your dance with this stranger, given the stiffness of your posture and the large gap you make sure to maintain between you both. Giving him a stiff smile, you decide to be polite and make small conversation.

“Forgive me, I don’t know your name.” Pausing, you leave him plenty of space to fill the opening and he takes it with ease, a sweet, gummy smile on his face.

“Min Yoongi, of the Lunatus Pack. And you need no introduction, my beautiful witch queen.” His tone is playful and you can’t help but smile at his infectious happiness, letting him twirl you around in an overly extravagant manner.

“Lunatus Pack? The ruling class of the Lupine nation. How interesting, I was told that no one high up in our werewolf brethen was able to make it tonight.” You ponder idly, eyes glancing around the room to try and find a red mask.

Yoongi hums lowly, his eyes focused on something over your shoulder that you can’t see and if you’d been paying attention, you would note the way his lips kick up in an amused smirk. “I’m not high up in the Pack, that is likely why. But how could I resist a chance to visit Hekatalia and see the infamous Witch Queen and her Vampire Prince?”

Leaning away, you raise a brow at him sardonically. “Are we a tourist attraction now or something? Interesting, most people in my kingdom seem patently uninterested in my husband.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, before spinning you suddenly, his hands much lower than you were comfortable with. Lifting them, you give him a firm look that has him tittering with bemusement. “An attraction? No. But you are famous. And does that mean they are as uninterested in him as you are in each other? Because if so, he must be exceptionally popular here.”

You say nothing for a few beats of music, letting an awkward silence fill the gap until you finally question what he means by that. Another laugh leaves him, and you find yourself feeling slightly uncomfortable, even though he is perfectly nice.

“I had been told that the Witch Queen hated her Vampire Prince husband, and that the feelings were mutual. And yet...the way you danced with each other tonight. That was with an intimacy borne of lovers, and the way you looked at each other reminded me of how my parents look at each other,” He stalled for a moment, hands tightening in their place on you. “I do not believe you hate each other as much as you wish everyone to believe. Nor do I think others believe that anymore, and nor do I think it’s such a terrible thing.”

Panic stirs in your stomach at his words and you look for Hoseok with anxiety flitting in your veins. That is, until his words sink into your skin and you look at him in a new light. “What do you mean? We were married under duress, and our peoples would never accept a love between two races.”

The words sound weak even to you, causing him to snort. “Oh sure. Maybe a hundred years ago that would have been true. But there have been one hundred, long, years of peace between your peoples. I’m sure there will be people unhappy...but you seem to be a beloved queen. I doubt your people would begrudge you finding happiness and love in the marriage you were forced into, with the man you will spend an eternity with.”

You can’t find the words to respond to that, emotion choking your throat tightly and you blink rapidly at the ceiling to hold back tears. Was he right? Would people accept Hoseok for you? Could you love openly and freely?

“And it would be a truly, stupid man to not want to love a woman as beautiful and kind as you.” He speaks these words louder for some reason and you frown, until you suddenly feel a warmth against your back that is familiar and comforting.

“Hello Min Yoongi. Strange to see a Lunatus Prince here. I’ve been talking to the Captain of the Guard, Jeon Jungkook, and apparently no one from Lunatus responded that they would be joining us today.” Hoseok’s voice is freezingly polite, each syllable bitten out and you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s not normally this rude, but you note with amusement the way his eyes glow a soft red under his mask while his kissable lips are pressed into a straight line. Yoongi lets go of you with a smile, bowing at his waist to press a kiss to your hand in thanks.

“Apologies Your Majesty. Our dance has been cut short, and please forgive me for concealing my identity. I’m sure you can understand the need to simply be free sometimes,” He gives you a warm smile that you find yourself responding with but he nods to your husband. “Remember my advice. I wish you both well for now and the future.”

At that, he turns and departs, winding his way through the crowd. You watch him go quietly before turning to Hoseok, giggling inside at the sight of the glare on his face. It pained you to not be able to tease him so openly, but if you were correct in your belief, then Hoseok was jealous. Something he never had to consider normally, as even with the disdain for your husband the people of Hekatalia still respected your marriage vows.

“Is there a problem husband?” You ask, voice airy with just a hint of playfulness that causes his eyes to narrow at you. The sight of his jaw clenching and the cherry in his eyes has your thighs squeezing in response, breath hitching every so slightly.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth, noting the way your lips part before they drag to your eyes, no doubt blown out at the blatant display of possessiveness your husband is portraying. Almost instantly, his own jaw clenches and you almost moan out at the sight of the muscles working beneath smooth skin.

“I believe I am ready to retire for the night wife. Are you ready to retire?” He asks, his tone perfectly polite and neutral without a hint of the blatant lust in his eyes. Nodding in a daze, you give an affirmative and begin to follow him out of the ballroom.

It’s infuriating how slow you get through the crowd, continuously accepting praise for the event along with gracious goodbyes and wishes of well being to you both until finally you are free. Soyeon is stood in the corner of the entranceway, laughing beautifully with a young woman in a dress of emerald green and you watch them both momentarily before moving on.

The both of you ascend the staircase with far more grace and poise than you are feeling, and you are thankful that it is common for the host of the ball to leave early. Fashionably late to arrive and fashionably early to leave. It would continue on for hours in the ballroom, but you find yourself uncaring.

Not when you are watching the way your husband strides down the hallway, his long legs eating up the ground while his shoulders sway in an unconscious swagger. The vampires are always an elegant race, but your husband moves with the predatory hunger of a tiger shifter.

It makes your legs quiver with anticipation while a slick wetness dampens the silk between your legs already, breathing a little harder than normal. You know he can hear it, and it turns you on even more to know that he’s likely enjoying the sounds of your need.

Reaching your quarters, you watch with hungry eyes as Hoseok pauses outside of his door before opening it slowly and turning to face you. His mask is still pressed to his face, and you have the strongest urge to take it off him to let you see the captivating beauty that had stolen your heart long ago.

Instead, you enter his room quietly, your demeanour meek in the way that he so loves and you hear the slow hiss of breath from behind you as he stays where he is, a quiet hitting sound letting you know he’s let his head flop back against the wooden door until you hear the soft click of it closing.

There’s no sounds now, the faint whisper of music that had drifted from the ballroom disappearing once the door closes and you whisper a spell of silence to keep the rooms quiet. A silencing spell is normally placed around them anyway, but you have a feeling that tonight is going to be particularly special and you shiver with anticipation.

Turning slowly, you watch as your husband rests against the door with his gaze firmly focused on you. Taking the initiative to keep quiet for him, you run your eyes over his slim body and can’t help the automatic flex of your hands as they itch to touch him.

You don’t even need to see him well to know that his sensitive eyes caught that tiny movement, not when the corner of his lips turn up in a smirk that speaks of sex and desire.

“Did you enjoy your little dance with Min Yoongi, wife?” He asks, tone carefully neutral and you watch him vigilantly to try and detect his tiny tells. Your husband has always been phenomenal at hiding his emotions, and with the extravagant mask covering his face you find yourself at a loss.

“It was acceptable. He asked earlier and I finally accepted. It would have been rude not to.” You could dissuade his jealousy easily by simply explaining your conversation with the werewolf prince, but you find yourself unwilling. Because it is so rare to see him possessive like this, and you desperately want him to ravage you the way he obviously wants to.

Your words do nothing to appease him and you watch with pleasure as he bares his teeth, jaw working and you can tell he can’t figure out what to do for a moment. It’s pleasing, working him like this in tiny nudges until he will give you what you want. In your kingdom, Hoseok was practically powerless while you had the strain of unlimited power.

It was with great pleasure and excitement that you readily handed the reins of power to Hoseok in the bedroom, succumbing to his desires and wants with a submission that you could never reveal in your daily life. Which is why when he begins to stalk towards you, his eyes a dark crimson, that you shudder with need.

“Very well wife. I would be an unsuitable husband if I dictate who you could speak to, and I have no interest in hobbling you in that manner. It would be unseemly of me to undercut you like that. But I find myself with a desperate need to show you that you are mine, no matter what anyone else in that damnable ballroom believes.” He growls, voice low in his throat until each word is almost rasping out of his throat.

Hoseok is upon you now, moving so close that there is nary a centimetre between you both, forcing you to have to crane your head back on your neck to see him. He doesn’t let up, barely lowering his head and you almost whine with need for him.

“Am I going to get my good girl tonight? Or am I going to have punish you for being naughty?” You’ve never understood how vampires can do that strange hissing sound that they make, but the way it winds through his words and deep into the primal fear you have has your eyelashes fluttering shut while you let out the tiniest moan.

“I’ll be a good girl for you. I swear.” Mostly.

He says nothing for a moment, simply watching you with eyes that speak of a great need that only you can satisfy. You almost whine at him petulantly as he smirks down at you, fully aware that he has you exactly where he wants you.

“Good. Now, let’s see what is only for my eyes.” He stands back suddenly, leaving you cold and desperate for his touch on your skin. You’re momentarily confused until you follow his eyes down to your dress, noting the way your breasts are pushed together enticingly in the beautiful fabric.

Chewing on your lip while giving him big doe eyes, you reach behind yourself and tug on the ribbons that keep your dress in place. It’s hard to undress yourself, but Soyeon has always made it so that it is possible if you try hard enough.

Only, the position must set off something deep within your husband because he darts forward faster than your eyes can track and there’s a sudden, loud rip of fabric that echoes in the room. Pausing, you look down with widened eyes to see the beautiful dress torn open, silk hanging in tatters to leave your breasts exposed under his watchful gaze.

The tight corset that holds your waist in tightly prevents him from seeing the full expanse of your chest and he bares his teeth in annoyance at the sight. That doesn’t stop him from lowering his head though, trailing his tongue along your collarbones in a molten trail of lust that has your knees quaking as you grasp onto his jacket.

Your husband has always known how to use his mouth to turn you into a wreck under him, like a god of desire whose sole purpose is to simultaneously torture and send you into another plane of existence with pleasure.

That talented mouth is currently sucking a deep bruise into the flesh above your breasts, his hands cupping the fleshy mounds while his thumbs circle the hardened nubs of your nipples, the feeling almost painful until you groan at him, tugging at his hair in a motion that can’t decide whether you want him to move away or get closer.

A dark laugh leaves him, his breath brushing against the wet trails of your skin and causing you to shiver from the cold. At the movement, he abandons his oral assault on you to simply track his mouth back north, the sharpened points of his fangs scratching against your skin in a tantalising way.

In a brutal show of the strength his race is so famed for, Hoseok bends down and lifts you up until your breasts are level with his wandering mouth. A squeal of laughter leaves you as you grasp the strands of his silky hair tightly for balance while he focuses his attention on laving his cravings on your breasts, hot mouth licking and sucking any inch of skin he can reach until finally he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth, the sheer heat of his wet mouth causing your head to drop back as you gasp out.

The movement has you wobbling and he grunts, moving with a speed that still shocks you until you’re landing on the soft covers, the silk embracing your body in a cold that contrasts deeply with the heat of his mouth. Hoseok isn’t bothered by the change in position though and instead focuses again on the hardened bud, tongue flicking out to play with it but his lips wrap around it to suck deeply.

It’s almost as if your breasts are directly connected to your vagina as each pull of his mouth has a corresponding throb of your inner muscles until you whine softly, wanting to push at his head but knowing full well that he will punish you if you try and make him do what he doesn’t want to. And yet, the thought of the punishment has even more wetness trickling between your legs under your dress.

“Good girl.” He whispers against your skin and you want to cry in relief as he sits up, legs straddling your waist in a sight so sexy it makes you delirious with want. Hoseok smirks as your breath hitches before reaching forward and playing with the destroyed threads of your dress.

It’s with barely a flinch of effort on his face that he rips the dress from you in sections, tugging the ruined material out from under you to throw it in the corner. You pout lightly as he grasps the edge of the corset, playfulness taking the edge of his emotions in his eyes as he rips that too.

“They have laces for a reason husband.” You admonish lightly, raising a brow as you lay before him with nothing but a pair of damp silk panties on and your mask. He snorts in response, shrugging as he throws the corset away and looks upon your body like it’s a feast and he’s a starving man.

“You have assistants for a reason wife.” His words are quiet and unfocused, causing you to tut at him lightly. Hoseok’s eyes flicker to you at that, causing you to bite your lip in an innocent expression.

“So fucking beautiful. And mine.” He practically vibrates with possessiveness as he leans forward, using just a finger to snap your panties from you and leave you exposed to him completely. He doesn’t do anything to you for a moment though, instead just lets you feel the tantalising light touch of his breath against your centre and you wiggle slightly with unrestrained need.

Petal soft lips press to your inner thigh in response and you watch as he noses along the vulnerable flesh there, eyes flicking back to you to check your response before he lets the very tip of his tongue trail along a specific area. You don’t need him to tell you what he’s doing, and you groan softly at the knowledge that he’s licking along your artery.

He can likely hear the pounding of blood that echoes in your head, rushing through your body with your heightened emotions and it’s beyond exhilarating to know that he’s instinctively attracted to that spot. It should be frightening, but Hoseok has long since shown you that pain can be pleasurable when done right.

Which is why there’s a slight disappointment that dips your stomach when he abandons your thigh, nosing along the fine hair of your pubic bone until his tongue plays in the very spot you’ve been craving him this whole time. A low groan leaves him as he presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, dragging it up slowly before swirling the tip around the swollen bud in slow and steady circles.

Moaning deeply, you grasp at the sheets tightly as his tongue leads an assault of pleasure on your body that has your defences falling like dominoes with zero resistance. Each flick of his tongue, whether it’s the kitten light licks that have your hips jerking in repeated, short bursts of motion or the deep passes of his tongue that dip into your entrance with every movement.

He stops for a moment to press sticky kisses to your thigh once more, heated tongue licking along the sensitive flesh until you feel the tiniest prick that causes your leg to twitch in response. Lifting your head, you look down to see that he’s bitten down lightly, enough to cause a bead of blood to slowly trickle down your skin but not enough to be anything worrying.

Hoseok watches the dark liquid move with eyes that burn a bright crimson, the unfettered hunger in them making your inner muscles quiver with a need you vocalise with a broken call of his name. The sound breaks the trance he’d fallen into and he moves forward in an almost snake like movement to catch the drop on his tongue, following it back up at a languid pace until he wraps his mouth around the bite mark that is already healing.

With closed eyes, he tugs his mouth off to reveal the mesmeric profile that you love so dearly and your heart kicks at the sight as he nuzzles your skin almost affectionately. The softness vanishes though as he moves back to your centre, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with an almost brutal level of strength until your mewling and babbling out phrases that you don’t even properly understand.

A long, elegant finger dips into your channel slowly, coating in the sticky fluid that leaks from you with each glide of his tongue before slipping into you with ease. The intrusion is pleasant, but you gasp for even more, needing to feel the burning stretch of him.

He lets out a laugh against you, pressing a kiss to the bud of pleasure that throbs with need before sliding a second finger into you. Each move of his hand has him twisting slightly, searching for that special spot inside you until his fingers rub against the bundle of nerves that rest on your inner walls.

Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, hips pushing up to encourage him further and he lets out a primal growl as he presses a hand firmly down on your stomach, keeping you firmly in place.

“Hoseok please, please. I’ll be a good girl, please just...I need you.” You pant out needily, fingers reaching for him desperately and clenching with frustration when he darts out of the way with a smirk. His lower face is shining with your desire and he simply licks at his lips, taking in the unique taste of you as his fingers move in you slowly.

“Why should I? You seemed happy enough to flirt with another man earlier.” If you were being honest, you’d completely forgotten that Min Yoongi existed when you had Hoseok taking you to a whole new dimension in his bed right now, and you decided that you’d had enough playing games.

“I wasn’t. I would never. You’re the only man I want, I swear. Please Hoseok, husband. Please.” You beg, pleading with him to give him and just fuck you into tomorrow. He watches you closely, eyes back to being his usual brown but there’s no softness in them tonight.

Tonight, he looks every inch the regal vampire prince he is.

Baring his teeth, you whimper at the sight of his sharpened incisors and pout as he pulls his hand from you. Lifting it up, he looks at the strands of sticky liquid that stretch enticingly when he pulls his fingers apart.

Watching you closely, your inner muscles clench desperately around nothing as he slots them into his mouth and sucks them out slowly, eyes remaining focused on you the whole time. “You taste good wife. Will you let me taste more?”

The question is surprisingly civil given how annoyed he’d been earlier, but you note the way his eyes focus firmly on the elegant column of your throat and recognise his real question. Despite his earlier bite, Hoseok always made sure to have your permission before biting your neck. It was a visible area, and took a degree of trust to allow a vampire that close to somewhere so vulnerable.

Your response was simply to run a finger along the expanse of skin enticingly, letting it trail along the curve of your breast and stroking down your stomach before reaching the wetness of your clit. As your fingers begin to play with yourself, a rumbling growl vibrates from his chest and you grin at him in challenge.

“Wench.” He hisses out, tugging his jacket off before pulling his tie off and undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Once the delicious view of his tan, toned chest is given to you, he simply undos the laces of his trousers and pushes them down his shapely thighs, unwilling to spend the time required to take off those intricate boots.

The sight of his cock bobbing in the air makes your mouth water while your inner muscles squeeze, craving the thick intrusion of him already. He smirks at the sight of your blatant want and strokes himself playfully, lips pouting at you mockingly as he tugs at his turgid length with long and practiced strokes.

A bead of pearlescent pre-cum at his tip is swiped along his thumb before he’s leaning forward, pressing it into your mouth and letting you suck the salty bitterness off his skin with a swirl of your tongue. He moans out quietly before leaning down and capturing your mouth in the first kiss of the night, his lips pressing against your firmly in a sign to not fight his dominance.

You grant him entrance to your mouth eagerly, opening up and sighing into him as his tongue slides along yours in a sensual dance. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him closer and moan as he takes a thigh and wraps it around his waist, cock resting against your pubic bone as you grind against him in an attempt to gain some friction.

It takes only the slightest movement of Hoseok’s hips until his blunt head is pressing against your entrance and you break away from him to look down, the sight of him slowly pushing into you arousing beyond belief. You can’t help the way you clench down at the sight combined with the astonishingly pleasurable feeling of him stretching you.

He really shouldn’t feel like this every time you have sex, and yet he does.

“Oh...Hoseok.” You gasp out, your head falling back into the pillow as your body strains under him, tensing up as he bottoms out in you. Hoseok lets out a corresponding moan, soft and light as his head drops into your neck to get used to the sensation.

“Stop squeezing.” He snaps, nipping at your collarbone lightly and you shudder around him at the sensation, causing an immediate whine from him. Lifting his head, he glares at you with ruby eyes that promise retribution and you shiver with excited anticipation.

“Oh, is it going to be like that then?” Hoseok murmurs, eyes flickering over your face and before you can even respond, he pulls out until only the very tip of him remains in you before slamming back in with so much force, he almost shunts you up the bed to the headboard. Almost immediately you let out a wail of pleasure, the force of his movement pressing his hips into your clit with each thrust and sending sparks of desire that fizz through your veins before adding to the bubbling pit that’s building in your stomach.

Once he’s started, he doesn’t let up and each slap of Hoseok's hips against yours was so hard, so forceful that it felt almost bruising. Your body jerked upwards with each movement until you were almost positive he was going to fuck you through the headboard.

His breath, hot against the sweat of your neck, has you shivering while the primal sound of his low, guttural groans makes you clench even tighter around his cock. The sensation has him gripping your hips just as hard, fingers that are normally gentle squeezing with a force to leave pretty bruises in the shape of those hands you love.

It’s a good job no one but him and Soyeon will ever see the bruises on your hips, and the thought turns you on even more, more wetness making letting his cock slide in you even easier.

“Oh, you're being so good for me wife. So good,” He whispers darkly against the tendons of your neck, lips fluttering against your skin with butterfly soft movements that only heighten the sensation of touch you're craving from him. “My beautiful wife. Can you moan for me? Can you scream?’

Hoseok bites down then when you’re not focused on his mouth, his perfect white teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck with ease and you sob out a cry of pleasure at the sting. The pinpricks of pain his fangs cause vanish as his tongue laves attention to the wounds before he presses his lips to them, suctioning hard and you pant as you hear his throat gulp greedily at the thick red liquid you bleed for him.

The overwhelming sensation of both pleasure and pain has you writhing under him, throbs of desire causing you to clench around him rhythmically until he's hissing his displeasure at you once more.

Swiping his tongue along your skin to catch any leaking trails he had missed, he pulls away and you watch him through heavy lidded eyes as his lips pull back in a silent snarl. Once white teeth are now stained, while two impossibly sharp fangs are prominent in his mouth. He’s fed messily tonight, his lust causing him to be a little less careful and his chin is smeared with red.

“Bad girl.” Hoseok whispers lowly, his dominant hand coming up to wrap around your throat with a gentleness that belies the ruby in his eyes. His fingers avoid the sore marks he’s made though. Leaning down, his refined nose brushes along the bone of your jawline slowly, nudging at you in a way that's almost affectionate in spite of his words.

Rolling his hips into yours at an almost glacial pace suddenly, you can't stop the whine as his hips press against you enticingly; just enough pressure to make it feel nice but not enough to go anywhere.

“Say my name darling. Let everyone know who's fucking you good.” He whispers into your ear, voice low and sensual like a devil coaxing you out of your home. Hoseok is obviously not quite over his jealous flare earlier, and if it wasn’t for the sheer gratification he was giving you then you’d coo at him.

His words are accompanied though by another sharp snap of his hips, cock spearing you and pressing against that thick bundle of nerves on your inner wall until you're panting out his name, desperately, clinging to his shoulders with fingers that dig deep.

“Hoseok, please.” You gasp out, high pitched whines threading through every sound. Hoseok chuckles darkly, nipping at your jawline before pressing even harder against your throat till you can barely breathe.

“Say my name. Scream my name, wife. Who do you belong to?” He bites out, teeth gritted together while the tendons of his own neck appear enticingly from his efforts.

Wheezing under his grip, you tap at his arm until he's releasing just enough that you can have a breathe. The pressure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, your pussy feeling like it's about to break from the pace he's going at and you can't stop the long, elongated moan that you let out as you finally reach your release.

Squeezing around him like a vice, your fingernails drag down his back deeply while your eyes roll into the back of your head.

A small part of your mind remembers his demand as he continues to thrust, causing micro explosions of aftershocks that ricochet your body. “Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. I belong to Jung Hoseok.”

Eyes opening you watch as Hoseok’s eyes slowly bleed from ruby to black in satisfaction, the smirk on his lips having a touch of smugness in your orgasm clouded mind.

“Good girl. Always such a good girl.” He grunts before his eyes close, expression almost pained as he presses himself firmly into you. His grip on your throat tightens once more while the other on your hip feels like he'll break something.

Hoseok's soft, bloodstained lips fall open as his brow creases from the force of his orgasm and you can feel his cock twitch as he cums, emptying himself inside you. “Good girl.” He whispers once more, eyes opening as his chest moves rapidly in an attempt to get his breath.

Rolling off you, you both face the ceiling and gasp desperately while your body feels boneless with a lack of energy. It’s like he’s sucked all the energy out of you with his bite and the orgasm, but it feels so pleasant that you can’t find it in you to care.

You don’t even realise that you’ve started to drift until you jerk into awareness when he lazily moves onto his side, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer to him. A soft kiss is pressed to your throat and when you look at him, Hoseok has an expression that almost looks like he’s asking for forgiveness.

“I’m yours too. You know that right?” He whispers out, and you can feel the sudden vulnerability in it. Smiling, you nod your head and kiss his forehead gently and simply tell him to sleep. You’ll always be his, just as he will always be yours. No matter what others think.

The final day, as always, is bittersweet. It begins with you awakening slowly, consciousness crawling its way into being at a pace that would make the snails in the gardens seem fast. Everything feels warm and the quiet solitude of the room is comforting for once instead of oppressive.

You don't want to wake up though, and you fight it as much as you can. Because waking up means facing the reality that he is leaving. That you have only scant hours with him before he climbs into his carriage and departs to his kingdom, unseen and unheard of for a further six months.

It makes your limbs feel heavy, the weight of your sadness like chains around your chest that squeeze tight until it is too hard to breathe. You had tried communicating one year, sending messages to each other as secretly as possible until you realised the futility.

One simply did not send messages from Hekatalia to Sanguinus, particularly not to the Crown Prince from the Witch Queen. Especially not when you were supposed to despise each other.

It was lovely while he was here though, while he was home. You weren’t even entirely sure where he called home anymore, but a tiny part of you hoped that he considered it here in your arms. Even if his time here was spent metaphorically shackled to the castle, you had the comfort of simply knowing that he was here.

For yet another moment, like the hundreds of times before, you cursed the Faerie Queen for giving you such a cruel curse.

Despite the knowledge that he was leaving though, your beloved husband was also the reason that you were waking right now.

He was already awake underneath you, his heart slow but steady under the warm skin of his chest as your head lay on him. Hoseok hadn't said a word to you, nor had he tried to coax you from slumber.

Instead, his fingers simply trailed along the length of your exposed back in slow, yet steady and assured movements. It was featherlight, and you would have shivered if he hadn't been doing it for long enough to desensitise your skin.

You're not sure why he hasn't tried to wake you, but he seems to be deep in thought. Though if you'd thought he wasn't paying attention then you were reminded of his vampiric senses when his hand glides up your back to rub at the sensitive skin at the bottom of your neck.

“Good morning wife.” His voice is low, gravelly with sleep and you revel in the deep tone with happiness. Nuzzling your nose into his neck, you refuse to open your eyes and ruin the moment.

Instead, you let your hand wander to rest against the velvet skin of his chest, the muscles firm under your hand. But it's the steady beating of his heart beneath your palm that calms you more than anything.

There's a misconception amongst your kind that vampires are undead and therefore have no heartbeat. It's wrong, obviously, and borne of fear and terror throughout the years. A way to demonize their enemy and strip them of the things that makes them relatable.

It is easy to slaughter innocents after all, if you believe that they are not alive in the first place.

Though it is a stupid belief that they have, given vampires quite clearly procreate. And dead people are not prone to giving life.

Still, you can't help the gut deep sense of satisfaction that you have at feeling that strong beat beneath your fingertips. The beat that tells you that he's alive and well.

“We have to get up wife.” Hoseok speaks, the words dancing from his lips into the quiet air like the tiny dust motes that you can see gliding lazily in the morning sun. Pressing yourself firmly against his side, you shake your head into his neck petulantly.

“No. I don't want to. I'm queen, I can do what I want.” You don't even have to see your husbands face to know he's probably smiling at that, his rounded cheeks pulled high while his eyes crease in happiness. It makes your heart hurt.

“Yes you are the queen. A very good queen, who does not abandon her subjects or her work to laze in bed with her husband that she should not love.” He admonishes, the hand stroking affection into your back making the words softer than they should be.

Sighing quietly, you simply inhale the soothing and comforting scent of him. “Maybe so. But I do love him. And my subjects will be here tomorrow, whereas he will not.”

His hand pauses and there's nothing further said, his very breathe still in his chest before he let's it out in a deep exhale that speaks of so many emotions. With a burst of movement, Hoseok rolls to his side and lays his arm over your waist while resting his head close to yours.

Neither of you say anything, gazes simply tracking over each others faces to keep every pore and line fresh in your memories. He looks beautiful, if a little paler than when he arrived due to his lack of spending time outdoors.

One year, you will declare him able to go where he pleases whether the population likes it or not. You know he likely won't go far, and he’s actually been the one confining himself half the time, but you would like him to at least try to experience some freedom.

His eyes are soft and unbelievably kind today, the colour rich as dark chocolate while his inky hair splays across the pillow and his forehead in a haphazard manner that is adorably sweet. The effects of sleep are still present on him as well, with a crease from his pillow in the round softness of his cheek while the puffiness under his eyes belies his tiredness.

It's the imperfections that make him truly perfect.

“I don't want you to go.” You croak out, voice cracking and hoarse with both sleep and emotion that you don't have to explain but that he feels all the same.

Hoseok says nothing for a moment and simply gives you a heart wrenching, bittersweet smile. “I know. I don't want to go. But you know I have to. Six months, and I'll be back. You know that I will love you fiercely, even when I am gone.”

Your eyes fall from his gaze and the pure honesty you see there. It must hurt him so, to constantly be uprooting his life like this. Yet he has not complained since the night he shyly confessed his love for you, fully braced for hatred and rejection so many years ago.

His thumb makes slow and comforting stroking motions on your side before he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead before letting them remain there for a moment.

“My father has a meeting in the Faerie Kingdom soon. I think I may ask to go with him.” You understand what he means instantly and shake your head.

“Hoseok...no. You know the faeries hate us. She will never undo this curse. And I don't blame her. I don't want her to. This curse keeps us apart, yes. But without it, we would have never found love in each other. Only hate. And our people will kill each other again.” You whisper, resting a hand against his chest as you make your case.

As painful as it is to plead with him to accept the status quo, you know that it must be done.

He makes a strained noise of complaint before hugging you closer. “I hate it though. I have to at least try. For our kingdom's, so they can see that we truly can get on with each other and love. For us, to no longer live half lives. For...the babe we lost through our hubris and the children we can never have. Please...let me at least try. How can I tell you that I love you, how can everyone accept that I love you if I can't even fight for you? You can't ask because of diplomacy, but I am not a king yet. I'm just a prince, with not as much to lose as you.”

You don’t know what to say to him, as denying his request would likely hurt him even more. He’d follow your demands if you told him not to go, you knew that, but you wondered what it would cost in your relationship. It had always been harder on him, the constant shuffling from one home to another and unable to make any concrete plans for his future.

Was this to be his life? You at least had your kingdom to run, but Hoseok’s father was not likely to give up the throne anytime soon. Hoseok spent his life either learning under his father in his kingdom and not doing a whole lot, or just plain not doing a whole lot in your kingdom.

You knew that he craved more in his life, and it pained you that he was likely unhappy in many areas because of the curse. He’d taken losing the baby badly, very badly, and you knew that he craved a family for you both. Maybe it was because he truly wanted a family, or maybe it was because he wanted something to do and a child would allow him to focus his efforts somewhere.

One hundred years was a long time, and the fact that there was a distinct possibility of never bearing children in the future was painful for you both. How could you deny him to at least try? To at least ask and try to fight for your right to happiness with each other. You wanted it as much as he did, and you did not want him to be facing an eternity of unhappiness.

“Just...don’t get too hurt if she denies it. Please. Even if she says no, at least we get half the year with each other. We will figure this out, even if we have to just declare our love to each other. What can they do anyway? The curse means we have to spend six months together, and they cannot kill us. But...try.” It doesn’t seem like much, and he huffs out a breathe in annoyance. Chuckling in his arms, you press a soft kiss to his neck and enjoy the way he shivers slightly.

“You know, if anyone could see you behind closed doors then their ideas of bloodthirsty and scary vampires would be gone completely.” You tease, pushing against him until he finally lets his arms relax and you slip from him.

Exiting the bed, you stretch with a deep groan before turning around and talking in the sight of him. Hoseok is leaning up on his elbow now, the silk sheets draped around his hips and revealing the delicious expanse of golden, toned stomach and chest. The image is slightly ruined by his sleep puffy face, but it just makes you smile as your heart swells with affection for him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful wife?” He grins, fangs slightly longer than they had been as his gaze tracks along the expanse of your naked body. Cheeks heating as your husband is evidently feeling different emotions to you, you shrug as nonchalantly as you can before walking to the wash basin in the corner of his room. Taking the towel, you dip it into the fresh water and give yourself a quick clean over before heading back to him.

Crawling onto the tall bed, you bounce towards him and laugh at the way his eyes focus on your breasts immediately. Leaning over, you catch his lips in yours in a sweet kiss before sitting back with a mischievous smile.

“Come husband. We must get ready.” He growls at your mocking tone, eyes deeping to crimson as he sits up and captures your lips in a bruising kiss, one hand twining in your hair while the other presses your chest to his.

His mouth leaves yours and moves down your throat hungrily, sucking in a needy motion against the column of your neck with a deep purr. “Impudent woman. Maybe I should have a last feed...for the road you know.” He hisses, the words tickling the sensitive skin and you moan quietly, your smile unseen by him.

Gripping his black hair tightly, you press his head to your throat in an encouraging manner while your other hand reaches his body down to grip him firmly, shifting your body into position. “Please do. A good wife needs to make sure her husband is taken care of.”

He lets out a strained groan as you sink onto him before pulling back and giving you a narrow eyed gaze, his amusement strong despite the red in his eyes. “Wench.” Is all he says before he focuses on the matters at hand, providing you both with the final pleasures of his visit.

Duties soon call however and within no time at all, you find yourself sat with your advisors as they discuss the recently updated terms of a trade agreement with a far away kingdom. You should be paying more attention than you are, and part of you admonishes yourself for being such a terrible ruler, but a larger part of you is focused on the welcome soreness between your legs and the ache at your throat.

Soyeon had to wrap a beautiful scarf around your throat, turning it into an endearing fashion statement to hide the redness of Hoseok’s bite. There was a burning desire to just throw the scarf away and wear his mark proudly, but you knew the shock it would likely cause.

One day, you would simply throw your caution to the wind and kiss your husband in front of everyone the way he deserved. If you had a coin for every time you thought something like this, then you would likely have enough money to rival the royal vault.

But there is another part of your mind that is firmly in your quarters with him still, and you wonder what he is doing right now. A quick glance at the clock tells you that the carriage is due anytime, and your stomach twists with unhappiness at the prospect.

Shaking your head, you engage back with your advisors and discuss the terms that you find acceptable along with the ones that you do not, requesting they go back and re-negotiate better for your subjects. They acknowledge the requests, writing down notes furiously that you have no doubt will be discussed with the corresponding partners in the foreign kingdom.

A sudden knock at the door has your heart racing while your stomach turns, causing nausea. Soyeon’s head appears behind the heavy wooden door and you feel the strongest urge to suddenly cry.

“Apologies Your Majesty, but your husband’s carriage has arrived.” Standing, you brush at invisible dirt on your skirts before nodding your head to your advisors who bow. Making your own apologies, you excuse yourself from the meeting and begin to follow Soyeon along the quiet and empty hallways.

“Is he ready?” You ask quietly, your tone strained as your hands play with themselves nervously. Soyeon gives you a sympathetic look, resting a hand against your arm for a moment before nodding her head.

“He is Your Majesty. Waiting for you just before the doors.” She didn’t even need to say that final sentence as you turn a corner and he’s there, looking magnificently beautiful. His dark hair has been styled elegantly, lifted off his forehead while most of his body is hidden behind a long, fitted black coat, the ends brushing his knees and meeting the top of his boots. The silver lining is a subtle sign that only you would understand and you bite your lip suddenly to stop a burst of emotion.

“You have only a few minutes before they will be expecting him. His luggage is already being stowed.” She whispers, bowing her head to you both before heading out of the door. Neither of you move for a moment, and you watch painfully as Hoseok swallows.

“They’re here.” He says, tone empty as he states a pointless fact that you both already know. Pressing your hands to your mouth, you nod your head as tears fill your eyes while a gnawing desperation fills every ounce of your body.

Upon seeing it, Hoseok’s brave face falls and his own eyes shine with unshed tears as well. Striding over briskly, you marvel at the extraordinary sight he makes with his coat billowing behind him before he’s suddenly there, taking you into his arms and holding you so tightly.

“Do not cry my love. Please. It will make it much harder to leave you and impossible to not give away my feelings.” He begs, words soft and light as a feather as he pleads with you desperately. Sniffling, you bring a hand to wipe away a stray tear and he gently thumbs away the liner that has slipped from your eyes.

“You look phenomenal. Like a king.” You whisper and he laughs quietly, his face light with happiness despite the sad situation.

“I will never be your king, remember?” He breathes out, the teasing in his voice a welcome break to the brevity of what is to happen and you cling harder to him. Hoseok lets you, and makes no motion to try and move you away from him. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in tighter.

“You’re the king of my heart.” His laugh is loud at that, the sound happy despite the situation and you can literally feel it vibrate out of his chest as he lets his hands wander along the laces that keep your dress tied together.

“Wow. I don’t even know how to respond to that without making a sarcastic comment.” Pulling away, he looks down at you with so much affection and love that you grip the lapels of his jacket even tighter.

“Then don’t. Just...come back to me in six months happy. That’s all I ask. I love you.” You focus on his chest, flattening out his jacket and rubbing at imaginary wrinkles while your lip quivers threateningly. It’s probably not very queen-like but you’re beyond caring about that right now. Hoseok doesn’t respond, simply letting his own hands rub your arms in long and gentle motions before he presses his lips to your forehead.

“I will. I promise. And all I ask is that I come back to you being happy as well. I love you too.” His voice is thick and it cracks on the final part of the sentence, causing you to swallow thickly.

“I will miss you, husband.” You whisper and he gives a weak smile, tight lipped before he dips down to catch your lips between his own in a kiss so fierce and full of emotion. It’s six months worth of kisses in one go and it leaves you breathless, panting against him when he steps back.

“I will miss you too, wife.” Blinking rapidly, he looks up at the ceiling before taking a few fortifying breathes while he rolls his shoulders in preparation. Turning to the door, he looks back at you and gives a final smile before he’s gone and you’re left alone once more.

Staring at the closed door, you will him to re-appear and take you in his arms once more but he doesn’t. Because he can’t. You both know that the curse is vicious and cruel, the pain almost unbearable.

Not waiting for Soyeon, you move quickly through the deathly silent halls before reaching your quarters once more. Slowly moving to the window, you tentatively peer out and watch as the black carriage slowly disappears out of the courtyard of the castle, dust rising as it heads on the long road back to Sanguinus.

Facing your empty room, you look around it despondently and find him in every corner. The bed, where you’d made love many times and cuddled long into the night. Only last week you had lay on your stomach across it, Hoseok sitting on the floor in front of you while he read aloud from a book. Every page he read got him a kiss on the head, until he was giggling with how fast he was trying to read.

The nightstand, when he’d taken over the job of Soyeon to carefully remove your makeup as a simple excuse to be close to you. A few months ago, he had tried to put your makeup on for you, the results causing you to gasp in horror at the mirror until you both burst out laughing, holding your stomachs in glee.

The exquisite rug where you had both laid many times, hand in hand while discussing hypothetical futures. The desk in which you had both sat at, discussing treaties and agreements that he likely shouldn’t have been involved with, yet you’d been unable to not ask him to be involved.

And yet, while each memory hurt, it was filled with so much love and affection that your heart twisted painfully.

Moving into his rooms, you inhale shakily as you take in the wonderful scent of him. Moving over and sitting on the silk sheets of his bed, you run a hand along the soft material with a tiny smile. Only hours ago, you’d made love to him here for the final time.

Laying down in the place he always slept, you pressed his pillow to your nose and breathed him in. His scent would disappear soon enough, and you’d be left cold and empty of him. What would it be like, to never have to curl into his sheets and pillow and hoard every trace of him when he’d gone?

Tears fall in a slow trickle down your face to dampen the silk of his pillow in the quiet sadness of his room, and you lament the loss of your husband once more. Your quiet breakdown is almost peaceful, with Soyeon keeping staff away from your rooms to give you the privacy you so need. They wouldn’t understand why you mourn him.

You don’t know that in a carriage along a road at the same time, your husband is crying silently, his face stoic while his fingers clench tightly so as not to make any noise to alert his travelling companions. One day, he vows. One day he will never have to leave your side.

Epilogue

Thursday’s were simultaneously your least favourite and favourite day of the week. It was the day that your subjects were able to seek court with you, asking their monarch for favours or to resolve disputes, perhaps even suggest new laws and so forth.

You loved them because it gave you a chance to meet the very people you ruled over, and as an immortal queen you had plenty of time on your hands to get to know these people. It was likely that you would be overseeing the disputes of their grandchildren in the years to come.

They also often gave good advice that you would sometimes adopt into your own worldview, or suggested laws that were then debated amongst the lawmakers of your country. It was the perfect way to give the smaller people a voice in a society that perhaps didn’t listen as often as it should.

You knew that Hoseok was forever impressed with the format and thought it could perhaps work in Sanguinus, and when he was here then he would often sit in the accompanying throne and simply listen. In recent years, he’d even begun to quietly speak up and offer his own advice.

Perhaps the most surprising result of that was the your people didn’t hiss or spit at him. In fact, some had even taken his wisdom to heed. It filled you with a warm pleasure, resting in your chest to see the ever so subtle changes towards him over the years.

Of course, it wasn’t the outright acceptance you wanted but a hundred years was a long time. It meant your people had grown accustomed to his presence over the fifty years that he had resided in your kingdom, and you tentatively hoped that they would not consider him to be a threat to them.

He was, after all, their co-ruler.

Today had passed like all other days, with peasants, the middle class and even some of the lords and ladies of the Court coming to for you advice or to vent their anger. You were currently having to deal with two ancient families with a blood feud who were currently arguing over who owned a certain area of land.

Perhaps you would have been more forgiving with them, given that they were important families in your Court, but this was the ninth time that they had come to you in only a year and your patience with their incessant complaining had grown thin with their tiresome ways.

Sitting with your chin in your palm as you watched the two matriarch's of the family become increasingly loud in tone as they argued, you pondered if your posture was even remotely ladylike, nevermind befitting of a queen. And yet, you found yourself uncaring.

If Hoseok had been here, he would have sighed heavily at their pettiness and their constant threats of spells and hexes before leaving. Your husband had a short temper when it came to things like these people, and you found that your normally extended patience had shortened dramatically with them.

“Lady Elabaria, Lady Winania. May I interrupt for a moment?” You say, the question more of a statement that dared either of them to talk back or argue with their queen. A small, childish, part of you wanted them to try.

It would give you the perfect excuse to ban them from the castle for a whole year. Then you would have a whole year to no longer listen to them.

Unfortunately however, they are well-trained Court members and immediately cease their whining and threats to face you with bowed heads. Sighing heavily, you sit straighter and look over the two with a critical eye.

“I understand your concerns, but I must admit that I am becoming weary of hearing the complaints from both sides. This issue has gone on too long and frankly, you are taking up valuable time that could be given to other loyal subjects. I apologise for the harshness of this, but I have given both of your families ample amounts of time to resolve this issue and yet I find both families bickering like children once more. As such, I feel the only way to resolve this issue is for the Crown to seize the lands in question until the two families come to an agreement. Once an agreement is realised, the Crown will relinquish the land to the accepted owner. Now please. Leave.” You wave a hand as you speak the words and the air around you shimmers for a moment, the magical binding of your words sealing in a golden glow.

The two matriarch’s stare at you with eyes wide in shock before they narrow in unhappiness. For a moment, you ponder if perhaps they might turn on you and you prepare to tell them why this would be a silly decision on their behalf. It’s pointless however, as they instead turn to each other and begin to argue once more as they exit the throne room.

Watching them go, you look over at the advisors who sit at a panel along the side of the expansive room with an exasperated glance. Park Jimin, the Keeper of Words in your Court, gives a silent laugh as he shakes his head at their antics.

The peasants of your kingdom are far easier to deal with. They also don’t come with the arrogance or sense of self-entitlement that the upper classes come with.

“This is the last one Your Majesty.” Soyeon whispers from your side and you turn to look at her. She’s wearing an elegant dress of purple and silver today, her highest quality dress to make sure she gives the best impression to the subjects of your kingdom. You’d already complimented her on it and how it worked wonderfully with her hair, which had caused a sweet flush to grace her cheeks.

Nodding to her, you give her a tired smile. “Good. I’m looking forward to whatever culinary delights Jin has made tonight.” At the very thought of the food your chef makes, your stomach rumbles in hunger causing you to sigh. He’d made a most delightful stew yesterday, and you were hoping for something equally as filling for the cold winter day.

Turning back to the final person, you sigh in gratitude that your long day is almost over. As much as you enjoyed these days, they also left you feeling stiff and awkward from having to sit on the uncomfortable throne for as long as you did. Not to mention the heavy tiara that rested on your hair, a symbol of your ultimate power in the kingdom.

Perhaps you complain too much though, you reason to yourself. There are many in your kingdom who do far more work than you without complaint.

The final visitor is a sole traveller, their head covered in the hood of their tattered robe and you eye them over. The robe brushes the floor with each movement and you note the dust that dirties the hem, lightening the dark colour and wonder if they’re from one of the far reaches of your kingdom.

Normally, people dress up better to greet their queen. You say nothing though, and instead gesture with an elegant hand to them. “Speak your mind loyal subject. Your queen will listen.”

There’s a moment of quiet in the vast throne room and you shift in your seat, brows creasing in confusion as they do not speak immediately. Normally, people are excited to have the ear of their queen. You do not push them though, as you have discovered over the many years that some people are nervous about their request.

“Your Majesty. I come today to request your assistance. You see, I have a wife, and I love her very much. But our circumstances are awkward. People do not approve of us being together, for our families have fought for many generations. But I love her fiercely. And I’ve finally found a way for us to be together. I just need your permission to love her openly.” The sheer longing and love in the stranger’s deep voice makes your heart ache with a need to hold Hoseok.

His story sounds so similar to your own, and you find yourself pressing a hand to your stomach without meaning to in an attempt to ease the pain. You weren’t entirely sure why your permission was needed, but if the queen’s word could help to ease the path of love for this stranger and his wife then you would be loathe to hold it back.

You could at least help one relationship to be happy.

“Forgive me, stranger. I do not know if my words will bring you comfort or bring ease into your life with your wife. But you have my full blessing to love openly and honestly. Hold her tight, and always let her know how much you love her, for yours is a love that you have fought hard for.” Your words are perhaps a little more filled with emotion than would normally emerge from you, and you can see the confused frown that Jimin is giving you as the words you speak magically appear on the scroll he is holding.

There’s nothing for a few seconds, and you wonder if perhaps the stranger has more to say. But then he laughs and you freeze in confusion, brows coming together as your heart races with anticipation while your mind pauses in hesitation.

“Thank you for your blessing, my queen. I have waited a long time for this day.” Staring at him in disbelief, you can tell that Soyeon and your advisors are looking between your stunned face and the stranger with confusion.

“No...it’s not possible.” You whisper softly before rising from your throne a hand to your chest while your other grasps your skirts, lifting almost subconsciously as you make your way down the steps. Shaky steps are made towards him and your breath is coming faster than normal, your senses firmly attuned to the man in front of you.

He lets out a breathy laugh, hood moving as he shakes his head underneath it. “Hello, wife.” At that, he lowers the hood and reveals the bright smile of your husband. Your husband who should not be here, for it has only been three months since his departure.

The shocked gasps of everyone in the room let you know that you’re not imagining his astonishingly handsome presence and your eyes track over him quickly. Hair that has been flattened underneath his hood is still a sumptuous black while his golden cheeks glow with a healthy tan.

“Hoseok...how?” You gasp out, a shaking hand moving in front of you until it’s pressed to his very real, firm chest. He’s just as warm as always underneath the rough material of his robe and your trembling fingers untie it quickly, letting it drop to the floor and revealing the exquisite figure of your husband in an black riding outfit.

His hand comes to grasp your own tightly, thumb stroking along the soft skin of the back of your hand before he presses it to his lips in a sweet kiss. “I saw the Faerie Queen, like I said I would. I pleaded our case to her, in fact I spent three days begging her. She refused at first, not understanding that I was being truthful. I told her of our love, stories of us being together and even of our dream of a family and the babe we lost. I offered her anything I could give except you. My crown, whatever she wanted as long as we could be together.” He pauses, his eyes scanning the hall and noting the surprisingly neutral looks on your advisors as they watch him embrace you.

“I didn’t have to beg too much surprisingly though. Apparently, our dance at the masquerade seems to have given us away to the observant ones and she already knew. She didn’t take anything from me and though she is still angry over what happened, she understands that is is not our fault specifically. We are still cursed therefore but she modified it for us, to make it easier to live with. We have no time limit anymore. Our time, is ours. She apologises for the miscarriage also. She didn’t think that would ever happen as it never entered her mind that we might fall in love, and she knows well enough the pain of losing a child.”

The words are soft and only for your ears, but you don’t even care. You can’t find it in yourself to care. Because he is here when he shouldn’t be, and there is no pain or hurt. Only love and excitement.

“No six months?” You ask warily, resting your other hand on his chest while he holds your other with a firm grip. A beautiful grin lights up his face as he shakes his head slowly.

“We can be together as long, or as little as we want. Still cursed, but free to love as we want.” He whispers and you can’t stop the choked sob that leaves your mouth as tears fall. Over fifty years of wanting this, fifty years of desperation to have him like everyone has has their partner. And now, now you have him.

“I love you, you stubborn, beautiful, wonderful man.” You gasp, wiping at your tears. He doesn’t even get chance to respond before you push up onto the very tips of your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly and pulling him down in a kiss so deep, so full of emotion.

The sight is probably shocking for everyone, to see their queen’s vampire husband here when he shouldn’t be. But what is perhaps less shocking to your most trusted people is the desperate kiss you give him while embracing him as tightly as you can. You don’t know it, but the people closest to you have long since guessed your feelings.

You may be cursed still, and you will be for the rest of your eternally long life, but you cannot think of anyone you would rather spend the rest of that long life cursed with.

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amphipolitan · 5 years ago

Text

King’s Landing, a SanSan love story

There are memories for them here, in the bustling capital that still stands, defiant against famine and invasion and even dragonfire. They are not good memories. Memories of riot and fire, long captivity and shameful service. Yet still they both cherish these memories, these stolen moments of sweetness and something beautiful awakening amidst the pain and despair.

This is my gift to @thedropletsparkled for the Sansan Secret Santa 2019, following her prompt “Canon-era: SanSan in King’s Landing.” (It’s 1.30 AM here in Germany, so this will probably be posted long before you wake up to read it, but I hope you enjoy it no matter what time of day it is!)

This story can also be read on AO3.

They did not know, then, how important those meetings would be, how lasting and real the love between them. How could they have known? For Sansa Stark and Sandor—the Queen in the North and her faithful consort—those days seem like shadows now, shades of different people who have long since passed away. Two people who were little more than caged animals, howling to be free.

For Sansa Stark, King’s Landing is like a dream of beauty, a song of fair maidens and noble knights. But too soon, the dream becomes a nightmare and she is trapped, a captive of the cruel King Joffrey, with no way out.

His guardsman, Sandor Clegane, seems to stalk beside Sansa like a faithful hound. When the starving mob attempts to carry Sansa off, it is Clegane who finds her and carries her to safety. Whenever she is in the darkest depths of despair, he appears. There is a bond between them, but Sansa does not realize this until the night of wildfire, when he comes to her room and asks her to leave with him.

‘I could keep you safe,’ he promises, and part of her wants to accept this promise. But she turns him away in the turmoil of her mind, and he flees far away from this place, from the years of dishonourable service and the bitter duty to his king.

Sansa keeps this memory as the night of her first kiss, still not understanding.

She is married for the first time, against her will, becoming a prisoner twice over. There is no love in this union, and she knows that there never will be.

She remains in the city, a caged bird, until she is carried off by a darker schemer. The name of Sansa Stark must be left behind, and she passes into Petyr Baelish’s power, re-shaping her identity to fit around him.

Sandor runs and runs until he can run no further. Until he is dying, bleeding out against a tree in the godforsaken ruins of war, and there is no friend who will even help him to a quicker death.

He curses the Stark she-wolf, curses the gods, curses the king, but most of all, he curses himself. ‘You should have taken her,’ he tells himself, over and over again, as he lies in high fever with his life’s force burning away. Better he should have taken her from that tower against her will, than that she had remained to become the property of that sneering dwarf. Better tied to him than to a Lannister.

And now they say she has killed the king, and they will surely find her and kill her. Cersei will have her burn for this. He twists in agony, remembering his own encounter with the fires of torment.

Better he should have taken her. Better he should have made her his…

Sandor barely remembers what comes after. Someone visits him in his agony, an old man with healing hands, and he confesses everything, knowing that he is about to die.

But when he awakes, there is a pleasant breeze around him and birdsong in a tree somewhere close, and his leg is in agony. It is neither the peace of the gods nor the torment of the seven hells; he is still on earth.

He is still here, but the Hound has passed away. In his place arises the Gravedigger, who does not speak and who buries the victims of war, laying them down to peace. Sandor Clegane rests.

Sansa is married for the second time, to a man no more of her choosing than the first. On her wedding day, when she emerges with her hair shining copper-red in the winter sun and Eddard Stark’s grey direwolf sewn onto her maiden’s cloak, her new husband kneels before her in the mountain snow and pledges to win her home back, to take Winterfell in his wife’s name and make her a queen.

For a moment, she dares to hope, but months pass in the Vale of Arryn, and the knights do not march. Winter storms sweep over the high mountains, blocking the passes to the north. They could march down the southern passes to the kingsroad, but men speak of even worse storms raging north of the riverlands, with drifts of snow twice man-height burying the kingsroad from sight.

The winds howl in the night as though hundreds of wolves have surrounded the valley. Men speak of the storm in hushed voices, and even the oldest granthers admit that they have never seen its like, not even in the depths of any previous winter. A wolf winter, they call it, and shudder over their cups.

‘But we are safe in the Vale,’ they always end such talk. Their food stores are plentiful. None in the Vale of Arryn will starve, this winter. Not like the riverlands, where the war has laid waste to every harvest and holdfast. Not like the north, where war still rages in the winter snow.

No news escapes from the north now. Stannis Baratheon has gone to fight the Bastard of Bolton, the last raven from the north brought that news months ago, but none in the south know what the outcome of that battle might be. Petyr must have fitted this news into his scheme to crown her somewhere, Sansa knows, but he does not share such scheming with her.

The winds blow cold, but Sansa’s marriage is even colder. She shares very few of her husband’s delights, and everywhere she walks, Petyr Baelish’s eyes follow her, burning with a hunger she does not understand. To get away from them both, she takes over the care of her little cousin, Robert. His fits have grown less frequent, but he is lethargic and seems very ill, although the maester cannot say for certain what ails him. Men speak of him as though he has already died, as if her husband Harry the Heir is already Harry the Lord.

Sometimes Sansa dreams of a different place, a different kind of life. It is quiet all around her, a silence she never gets to experience now, what with Harry’s boasting and his knights’ feasting and Sweetrobin’s cries which grow fainter every day. Only a light frosting of snow is seen here, on this island of calm, and the cold winds blow gently across the wide river and the saltpans beyond. She does not speak, but digs quiet graves for the victims of war and famine.

Somehow, these dreams remind her of Sandor Clegane, though she knows he must be long dead by now, a shadow that lingers with her as do the ghosts of her dead family. She stalks the walls of the castle by night, and one evening she catches sight of a silhouette against the snow outside, a tall armoured man with a burned face. But he is gone in the blink of an eye, and it is only a shadow made by the guttering of a candle-wick in its lamp-holder after all.

‘A dog can smell a lie,’ he told her, when it was still summer, in a different place. It is as if he growls at her once again, in this bleak castle cradled in the snows of winter. ‘All of them are liars, but most especially Littlefinger. You know the truth. You have only to discover it for yourself.’

It is as though illusion has finally been stripped from her eyes, and she sees clearly. She knows that Petyr is no true benefactor, that he would dispose of her as easily as he did of her aunt Lysa if she ever betrays him. She knows that he is poisoning Lysa’s son, the rightful lord of the Vale.

It is the better part of a year before Sansa can gather the evidence she needs to expose him. A year of waiting, keeping her cousin from Petyr’s clutches, of enduring his presence around her. Myranda Royce finds her out, and for a moment Sansa thinks all is lost, but Myranda decides to help her. Together, they find the evidence they need, and bring it to Sansa’s husband. Finally, Littlefinger is caught in the snare of his own schemes.

On the day of Baelish’s execution, the winds are still. When his blood paints the winter snow, a wolf howls, somewhere up the mountain peak. They leave his body for the wolves.

But just as Sansa savours relief, as one of her many cages melts away, a raven arrives from King’s Landing with news that changes everything.

It is a letter from Aegon, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, who should have died years before Sansa was even born. He is not dead, his letter claims. He has returned to Westeros, his rightful kingdom, and he has taken King’s Landing from Cersei Lannister. He sits the Iron Throne, and he demands that lords from all corners of the realm come to King’s Landing to do him homage.

‘We must go, and kneel before him,’ Sansa’s husband insists. ‘You must send me,’ he tells little Lord Robert. ‘Me and my wife both. I am your heir, and she is the rightful ruler of the North. If we do him homage, Aegon will lend his support when it is time to take back Winterfell.’

The other lords of the Vale add their voices to his, and Robert’s regents approve, so within a fortnight, despite the misgivings that knit in her stomach like snakes, Sansa takes ship with her husband from Gulltown to King’s Landing.

The news of the dragon king’s sudden accession is heard across all Westeros, even on the quiet island of the monks on the wide river. For days a debate rages within the Elder Brother’s quarters, but finally it is decided that a small group of them will travel to King’s Landing to see the new dragon king for themselves, and witness his coronation.

‘You will go too,’ the Elder Brother tells Sandor, ‘and be released from your vow of silence. It is time you got a sense of what else it is we monks do in the world beyond this islet. Perhaps after, you will be ready to take your vows and become one of us.’

He nods his acquiescence. There are no enemies for him in King’s Landing now, only ghosts and regrets. The Lannisters have fallen.

Sansa’s sense of foreboding does not ease when they approach the city. There is no harbour for them to disembark, only its remains, and they finally come ashore in a small rowing-boat. Parts of the city wall, she notices, have collapsed, and are being rebuilt with a surprising amount of haste. No such haste is shown in rebuilding the burned hovels just inside the gates. There are soldiers everywhere, displaying the dragon standard of the Targaryens alongside a golden banner.

‘What happened here?’ Sansa wonders aloud, as they make their way through streets littered with bones and begging children.

‘Word is,’ one of her knights replies, ‘that the Lannister woman turned on the city at the end. When she saw there was no escape, she sent her men out into the streets, to loot and rape as they would.’

Sansa shakes her head. ‘No. There is more than that. It feels wrong. It feels like—like it felt in those months when we were waiting for Stannis Baratheon to arrive. It feels like the worst is still to come.’

Her husband scoffs. ‘You have a woman’s heart, and you are fearful,’ he says. ‘A king must always look to his defences foremost.’

‘Before the needs of his people?’ Sansa asks, but Harry has spotted another column of knights up ahead, and is not listening.

The Red Keep is full, according to the hurried word they have with a worn-out serving-man, and so they must find shelter at one of the inns which is still standing. Sansa is secretly grateful to not be sleeping in Joffrey’s castle again, but she cannot help but notice that they are the only nobles lodging there. ‘Surely we cannot be the only ones who have arrived to do the king homage,’ she tells Harry later. ‘Surely the streets should be full of lords with their trains, and the king should not be shut up in his castle, refusing to see us. Is the war not won? Did Aegon not summon us here to witness his triumph?’

As usual, Harry will not listen to her. ‘I am going out,’ he announces, ‘to seek better cheer.’ She pulls back from him, determined not to show any hurt, but they are interrupted by a knock at the door.

It is one of their knights, and his face is grim. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, my lord and lady,’ he says, ‘but you will want to hear this.’

‘We must go,’ Sansa insists, after the knight has left the room. The shock of his news has hit her like a fist in the stomach, the breath knocked out of her, but she knows she must convince her husband. ‘We must leave the city before dawn, before they notice that we have gone. We can ride for Duskendale and take ship there. Please, my lord husband. Please.’

She has put aside enough of her dignity to beg, but still he will not heed her. ‘What threat is this Daenerys?’ he scoffs. ‘She will not dare to fight the rightful heir to her own family’s crown.’

‘She does not believe that this new king is Aegon,’ Sansa argues. ‘She believes he is an impostor, as he well may be. And she has three dragons! There can be no doubt of her own legitimacy.’

‘If these dragons are even real.’

‘They have been sighted.’ It is like arguing with a brick wall. ‘Where are the lords of Westeros, Harry? They are not here. They have declared for Daenerys, or they have decided to stay out of the affray, as we should too! Please, let us go back to the Vale.’

He turns as he walks out of the door. ‘No.’

The plaza before the Sept of Baelor is almost deserted. An icy wind creeps through the gravedigger’s rough brown robes and under his drawn-up hood. They have gathered here with the begging brothers today, as is their wont, but today their mission is to convince as many as they may to leave the city with them.

They have seen enough to convince them that the war for Westeros is not over. The smell of battle lingers in the air, and the unspoken name of Daenerys Stormborn haunts the city. Some of the more defiant brothers have taken to preaching her name, decrying the destruction that the supposed Aegon brought down upon the city when he took it. ‘He is no true Targaryen, this Aegon the Dragonless,’ they cry, ‘and he is no saviour. Look to the sky for your salvation! Look to the dragon queen!’

No matter the truth or lie of these words, the gravedigger and his fellow monks are all of one mind as to what they should do. Leave King’s Landing now, while there is still time. Before the dragons dance.

The gravedigger looks to the great marble statue of Baelor, towering over all with the magnificent sept behind it. There is a lady climbing the steps, dressed and cloaked in shades of blue that make him think of the river. A gust of wind blows down the steps, and the hood of her cloak drops back, releasing a fall of long russet hair.

His breath catches in his throat, and the brother nearest him looks up. ‘Sandor?’

‘I—I’ll be back,’ Sandor mutters. After his long silence on the isle, sometimes he now finds it hard to speak without forethought. He strides up the steps, where the lady has reached the entrance of the sept, and gone inside.

It is quiet inside, muffled voices echoing softly off the marble, and Sandor berates himself for a fool. She is not the only woman in the world with auburn hair. She is far away, perhaps dead, perhaps across the narrow sea. She will never return to him.

He turns towards the eastern side of the sept, and sees a blue-clad figure kneeling before the Mother’s alcove. Softly his footsteps draw nearer, the cloth soles of his monk’s boots making no sound. She raises her head to pray, and he stops in his tracks, almost falling to his own knees in reverence.

Though it has been more than three years since their parting, there can be no doubt in his mind. She was a pretty girl, but now she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, with her cheeks flushed red by the wind and her long hair streaming down her back like autumn leaves. But it is not her beauty which leaves him stricken; it is the sadness in her faces as she prays, and the way her lips silently frame the same song she sang in the night of fire and madness.

He hesitates a moment more, and then resolves that he should go. Who is he, to disturb her prayer, to imagine that she might have spared a thought for him these three years? It is enough to know that she is alive. With that knowledge, perhaps one of his burdens can be lifted.

But just as he has made up his mind to turn and go, she whips around as if he has touched her on the shoulder. Her blue eyes are wide in shock, and she fixes him in her gaze as if afraid he might disappear.

‘Sandor,’ she whispers, and the echo falls lightly on the marble.

‘Little bird,’ he rasps without thinking.

She gapes at him a moment, and then smiles tremulously. ‘I was that,’ she says softly, drawing closer to him. She shakes her head. ‘But I will not call you the Hound.’

From the moment she sees him, Sansa cannot trust her eyes to tell her that he is real. She keeps her gaze locked on him, and she moves closer towards him until she clasps his arm, making sure that he will not disappear into shadow and leave her alone again. Then she releases him and steps back, remembering that she is a married woman, and her cheeks heat with the thought of all that has gone between them.

‘You are a monk?’ she asks, not knowing what to say to him.

He shakes his head. ‘I have taken no vows yet.’

‘Yet?’ she repeats, sounding like a little girl in her own ears again.

‘It is a very long story,’ he says. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile. ‘So Cersei’s hunters did not find you.’

‘Nor you.’ She looks down, and twists her hands together. ‘I always hoped—after that last night when you—after we kissed—’

‘Kissed?’ he repeats incredulously, his voice sounding back at them from the marble pillars.

Sansa can feel her cheeks turning bright red. ‘No,’ she reminds herself, ‘he never kissed me after all. That was something I dreamed. He is rightly angry at me now. I should never have said that. I let it slip from my mouth without thinking.’

‘I—I must go,’ she stammers, and starts forward.

Sandor’s face is a mask of confusion. He makes as if to grab her, but then checks himself. ‘Where must you go?’

‘To my husband,’ she replies indistinctly, and flees the sept.

The encounter stays with him, eating at him, throwing his mind into turmoil. Something stirs below the tranquil surface of the Gravedigger. Not the Hound—the Hound is dead—but perhaps, this time, himself. Perhaps Sandor Clegane has awoken at last.

He loves her. That is what he would never admit, not before, not when he was deep in denial about the idea that the world could ever show him kindness or beauty.

If only she had not run!

He should have been softer, gentler, less threatening. But what is there to do? She is married to yet another high lord, as he had always known she would be, and he is returning to the Quiet Isle to make a lifelong vow—

If she had shown him any favour, given him the slightest indication that she wanted him by her side, then nothing could have kept him from her. He would fight a thousand men, were she waiting at the end of it all.

It is past midday, and still the monks are rounding up those who wish to leave the city. The sky grows heavy and seems to sink over the city, turning the light grey. It will snow again. The wind which snakes around the city walls has ice in its teeth.

A horn sounds out over the city, quivering away to die in the wind, leaving a hushed silence in its wake before the confusion begins.

‘Why did the horn sound? Is there an army coming? Is Daenerys coming? Will we be safe?’

Another horn sounds, and the city bells begin to ring. The streets are suddenly brought to life, as men of the Golden Company march to the walls. Sandor’s mouth is suddenly dry. It is nothing like the prelude to the Battle of the Blackwater; there is no enemy at the gates, no rioting in the streets, no ships clashing in the bay. So why does he feel as if something worse yet is to come?

Suddenly someone shouts. ‘There! Look up! Look to the sky!’

He looks to the sky, and his breath leaves him. Beneath the heavy snow-clouds, a black shadow swoops unmistakably over the city, its wings outstretched, its long neck held forward as it banks and swirls. As the city watches, holding its breath, two smaller shadows follow behind.

The dragons have come to King’s Landing.

There is a moment of calm, of anticipation, when Sandor almost believes that the dragons will fly peacefully and bring only wonder. But then the great black beast dips and circles in the sky, banking so that all can see his scaled bulk and the silver-haired woman who guides him, and a stream of fire flows from his jaws to the city walls below.

The other two dragons, the lesser shadows, begin to flame too, and chaos erupts. The houses abutting the sept are on fire. Sandor loses the other monks, and shrinks into the shadows of the sept. It has happened too fast for him to think, to have any thought in his head except to hide from the searing flames.

The flames burn brightest in the direction Sansa ran in, and his thoughts take a different turn.

‘Sansa!’ He is suddenly in the street, ducking from the flames, running the way she went without knowing where she is. Last time, he ran from the fire. Last time, he left her behind. It cannot happen again.

He runs without direction, not knowing where to go; fear drives him as much as his need to find her.

Above the fear, overriding the panic, something else calls to him. Another’s fear. The world seems to tilt sharply around him. He is trapped in a burning building, trying to unjam a door too heavy for him. He is coughing as smoke reaches his lungs. All around him, the knights of the Vale lie burned and dead.

‘Sandor!’ her terrified voice rings in his ears, and suddenly he knows the direction to go.

He does not stop to wonder at this strange bond, how he sees with her eyes and feels her fear deep in his chest. All he knows is that he must rein in his own fear in order to keep moving forward. If he stops to consider the fire, stops to hear the people screaming, he will die. Worse, she will die too.

He stumbles across an abandoned barrel of water, and stops to tear off part of his hood, dipping it in the water, before moving on. She is close. He runs down another burning street. Furnace winds buffet him from all sides, but he makes unerringly for a tall building that must be an inn.

The flames roar like the screams of the damned down in hell, and there is a clash of swords up ahead near the city wall, but he can still hear her voice, fainter now, whispering his name.

Half the inn’s roof has collapsed, and a beam has fallen down to obstruct the front door. He winds the wet cloth around his face. Most of the inn is ablaze already, and there is not much time. The heavy beam is hot, and he winds the sleeves of his robe around his hands. Anchoring himself against the wall, he pushes with all his might. He can feel her fear changing to hope, as she realizes he is there.

The beam barely moves a foot, but it is enough. She fights her way out through the gap in the door, as he pulls it open as far as he can, out of the smoke and the ash and the waking nightmare, to fall into his arms.

‘You’re safe, little bird,’ he repeats, over and over again, as she clings to him and coughs.

She looks up at him, her face streaked with tears and soot. ‘I knew you would come for me.’

He doesn’t know who reaches out first, if it’s the part of him in her or her in him, but their lips meet as the world burns, and they cling to each other in the midst of the madness.

‘If we die anyway,’ she whispers, ‘at least now you know. You know how much I love you.’

Something in him turns to steel. ‘We won’t die,’ he says resolutely. ‘I know a secret way.’

From across the river, they watch the dragons consume the city.

They move like fugitives, avoiding the battle that still rages on the walls and in the woods. By the river, they come across another fugitive from the battle: a grey mare, miraculously uninjured.

‘We can take refuge with the monks of the Faith,’ Sandor says as he helps her mount. ‘If we can make it to the Trident, all will be well.’

‘No,’ she says, and he looks up at her in surprise.

‘I forgot,’ he growls. ‘You are a lady of the Vale now. You will return to your husband.’

‘I saw my husband die in the fire,’ she replies, ‘and I am not of the Vale.’ Snowflakes begin to fall from the laden sky, settling in her hair, and Sansa looks out into the forest. ‘We go north.’

He says nothing as he begins to lead the mare up the riverbank, but Sansa can see a crooked smile spread over his face. It is then that she knows she will wed again, and this time, it will be different. This time, she will choose her mate. She will take a man gentle and strong, a man who has braved his worst fear to win through to her side.

The road is hard and the snows lie thick upon the riverlands, but unexpected fortune comes to the pair as they make their way north. They run across an elderly outlaw who turns out to be Sansa’s great-uncle, Brynden Tully. He brings them into the midst of the swamps, to Greywater Watch, where Robb’s still-loyal bannermen are plotting with Howland Reed to win back the North. With Sansa in tow, their plans are finally set in action, and they sail north to find Sansa’s baseborn brother Jon, the last remaining member of her family.

Once the war is won, Jon is proclaimed the new King in the North, and Sansa returns at last to Winterfell. But the castle is changed, as is Jon. The kind half-brother she once knew has grown cold, a hard man given to fits of deep melancholy. The halls of Winterfell are cold too, and the servants she knew from her childhood are all gone. Every corner and every room remind her too sharply of the family she has lost. She cannot grieve for them yet, for there is another war to prepare for. Winter has come, as Father always warned it would, and the army of ice marches south, even more dread and terrible than the beasts of fire.

When Sansa wakes one morning to see the shape of a young girl with brown hair and grey eyes standing over her bed, she imagines that it is the ghost of her lost sister come with the army of the dead, and she screams. But then the ghost throws its arms around her, and both the Stark sisters are laughing through their tears when her guardsman rushes in to find out why she screamed.

The fortunes of the Starks continue to rise. Jon makes an alliance with the dragon queen who now rules in the south, and she brings her dragons north to help fight the army of the dead. Sansa cannot help but be wary of her, thinking of King’s Landing every time the dragons swoop in the sky, but Jon seems to come back to himself in her presence, bestowing on her most of his all-too-rare-now smiles.

And as the snows steadily fall deeper and reports from the Wall become more dire, a Skagosi army marches south to Winterfell, pledging to defend the castle should the army of the dead win through the Wall.

Sansa is at the gates on the day they arrive. Their leader is a boy mounted on a great shaggy sort of goat, wrapped and hooded in sheepskin. When he draws back his hood to reveal his auburn hair in the winter sun, the onlookers gasp and whisper that King Robb has come again. But Sansa knows better: it is her little brother Rickon, long presumed dead, and she laughs as she embraces him even as she weeps for Robb. When they wheel Bran forward on a rough cart, revealing that none of her younger siblings died after all, she feels as though her heart will burst with bittersweet emotion.

Throughout all this, Sandor remains by her side, pledging himself to House Stark, becoming her personal guard. He will never march to war on his injured leg again, but he oversees the defences of Winterfell. He eats together with the Starks, talks with them, laughs with them. If they can survive the winter, Sansa knows, they might find healing and happiness together.

Unexpectedly, she comes face-to-face with her first husband, who arrives in the north along with Daenerys’s train as her councillor. In Winterfell, he agrees to annul their marriage, to make it as if it never was. ‘I am not sorry,’ he quips at her, the day the septon of Winterfell stands witness to the annulment. ‘Your husbands tend to meet with the worst misfortunes.’

‘Only those who dare wed me against my will,’ she shoots back, and to her surprise, he laughs.

‘Ah, but I see you are a she-wolf after all.’

The long night is upon them, and with the night come the dead. The fighters go in different directions to fight them, whilst Sansa and Sandor are left to defend Winterfell. Fires burn in the dark of day and night, and fighting rages on the walls. For seven days and nights the battle rages, and on the eighth day, the armies of dead withdraw. A strange light is seen in the north, and the defenders rest.

The war has been won, and soon a pale dawn breaks the long night, and scouts from Winterfell ride forth to find Jon and Daenerys. The dead have melted away, defeated by dragonfire, but the king and queen are nowhere to be found.

They will live forever in legend, but the men of the north must choose a new earthly king. One and all, Jon’s erstwhile lords bannermen proclaim one name. They will have none other than Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf, she who rode out of the southern snows to rally the north and take back her home, she who defended Winterfell through the long night, never failing in courage nor hope.

Sansa takes up the duty with a heavy heart, still mourning her brother. Winter still lies upon them, and her people need grain to survive. She arranges with her cousin, Lord Robert of the Vale, to ship food to the North via White Harbour. The years are hard, but they endure. And as the days grow longer and lighter, there is cause for celebration as the Queen in the North weds her loyal guardsman, a hero of the war.

A few moons after their wedding, a white raven is seen flapping about the turrets of Winterfell, and all rejoice at the coming of spring. But alongside the white raven, one of its smaller black cousins brings an altogether different message.

Sansa reads the message aloud to her husband and her assembled siblings. ‘I am writing directly to you, Queen Sansa, as one queen to another. I, Myrcella Baratheon, now rule in King’s Landing. We have weathered the winter, and I am summoning my leal vassals to the capital. You, however, are no vassal, but perhaps a trusted ally. I have recognized the independence of the kingdom of Dorne, where my good-sister Arianne now reigns as queen. I am prepared to recognize the independence of the north as well. I ask you to come to me, since I realize that an incursion to the north by myself might be taken as an unfriendly act. Come witness my coronation, and make alliance with the south and with Dorne. Perhaps the War of the Many Kings can finally be healed by the pact of the three queens.’

Spring moves faster in the south, and the road to King’s Landing is a pleasant one, with life coming back to the woods and moors, and early flowers braving the frost in the hedgerows. There are still some amongst Sansa’s cohorts who fear a trick from this new queen, but they all breathe easy when finally the two queens meet and promise an end to the enmity between their houses, and pledge each other assistance in restoring order and prosperity to their respective kingdoms.

It has been years since the day of dragonfire, and still longer since Myrcella’s father ruled here, when Sansa was only a girl. The Red Keep is all but destroyed, melted and cracked by dragonfire, and Myrcella rules from a new wooden keep built upon the remains of the Dragonpit. The Sept of Baelor is one of the few buildings that survives, looking across to Myrcella along the Street of the Sisters.

Sansa and Sandor quietly ride together, taking in the streets of the city rebuilt. The new houses and shops are built upon the ruins of the old, and a sense of hope prevails above all, a sense of enduring. There are ships in the bay, and merchants along the docks crying their wares as they did a decade ago. In the city, there are cakes and bread to be bought at the bakers’ once more, and the steady ring of hammers resounds in the Street of Steel.

They ride to the top of Aegon’s Hill, and take in the ruins. It is a lonely place, abandoned to the heather and the curlew, but new flowers have begun to grow over the ancient foundations already, and they can now see the sea past the collapsed towers, beyond the cliff.

Sansa dismounts, and takes Sandor’s hand. ‘Let me show you to the beach,’ she says with a hint of mischief.

They descend the rock-hewn steps where once she was led into the power of Petyr Baelish, and walk for a while along the sandy beach below. Foam-tipped breakers roll along the shore, and a cold spring wind blows their hair back into their faces. The beach is desolate and wild, populated only by the gulls who call as they skim the cliffs above.

‘When I first came here,’ Sansa says softly, ‘I could never have imagined what I might become.’

‘I always knew you were meant to be a queen,’ her husband growls.

‘A queen consort,’ she corrects him. ‘I would only ever have ruled through my husband.’

Sandor gives a snort of assent.

Did you ever imagine that for yourself?’ she teases him.

‘Bound to a she-wolf and pestered day and night by her and her wolfish siblings?’ He gives a bark of laughter and draws her to him. ‘Not even once.’

She giggles. ‘Well, this she-wolf has something to tell you.’ She takes his hands in hers, and contrives to look solemn. ‘There is another cub on the way.’

He does not say anything, but draws her close to him, planting the lightest of kisses on her forehead. ‘I will keep you both safe,’ she hears as he holds her close, but it is a promise so soft that she cannot tell whether it is spoken, or only a thought carried on the wind.

She reaches up to kiss him, overbalances, and the tension is broken as he catches her and they both start laughing. He puts his arm around her shoulders as they gaze out to the sea together, the clear skyline broken by an old shipwreck upon one of the rocky islands along the coast. She knows, without having to look, that he is smiling the crooked smile that never quite reaches the left side of his face, but which is reflected back in his dark, fiery eyes.

They have weathered the storm and found safe harbour together, and perhaps this new day will be a little warmer than the last. For whatever comes, the Starks will endure.

#sansan secret santa #thedropletsparkled #sansan #asoiaf #shipping #fan fiction #my fic

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eldonash · 5 years ago

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Orobas&Morelia - fated

Summary: Nearly killed by a slayer, Orobas is on the brink of psychotic break. Heavily damaged, he runs into Morelia-- the two strike a small deal and expose their true selves.

Location: Southern State Time Period: Flashback -- Untied States Civil War; 1863 Triggers: Gore, blood, body horror, injury, death

War was a constant energy in the world across all species and time. Orobas traveled with war, lured to it from South Korea into China, to Germany, and eventually into the United States. He moved often with his maker Haxian, the two inseparable and always with a body count behind them. It was growing tiresome in this city, a slayer had almost cut Orobas in half. It was probably the closest he’s ever almost perished, and the feast he required to heal from the damage had put him in disturbed mood. Haxian had left him only to seek out a place to lay low for a few days, the gun fire in the distance was a crackle of explosions, and the scent of blood in this war beaten southern town was heavenly. He moved from the darkness of an alleyway to the edge of a street. The streets pitch less lanterns strung up on hooks, as the dark sky randomly illuminated in bursts of firelight. People tried to scurry through the city to get to where they were needed. Unaware of the cloaked figure with a limp, arm almost hanging off his shoulder, and a thirst so deep anything would do.

Entangling herself with mundane matters wasn’t something Morelia did frequently. Finding herself in the independent nurse squadron hadn’t been a bad strike of luck, but rather the easiest way she’d found so far to relentlessly eat without fearing getting caught either by wardens or the same humans she so deeply desired. But despite having an all you can eat buffet to her disposition, the lampade still found herself merging with the shadows at night, waiting for the perfect victim. Many seamlessly walked past her without noticing, wondering why a particular spot felt slightly colder than others, the ghost of a hand touching the back of their necks. But it was probably their imagination, right? But it wasn’t the thrill of finding a clueless spellcaster what kept her in the dark alley, but rather a barely noticeable silhouette that had caught her eye. It took a while before she decided to move and, like a ghost, the woman lurked towards it, hoping she’d be lucky enough to find her dinner.

Orobas couldn’t remember what human hunger felt like. Emotions were a blurry crosshatch within his mind, that shifted with his moods and what he desired. Layers of simplistic understanding in survival were more pronounced, and likely why he’s survived as long as he has, being someone who killed so much. The monster didn’t entirely exist with the living, not caring for their needs, their ambitions, or their lives, but it was necessary to associate with them. Humans disgusted him, a vermin that he feasted on because it was all he needed to remain immortal. Right now, hunger was there, a swirling dull throb that made his eyes bleed to red as he limped forward again, the step excruciating as his middle slid out of place and seemed to barely connect. As he moved from the alleyway towards the building where people were laughing, and drinking their fill, a tavern it seemed-- he pulled out a long six inch, ivory handled blade with his only operating hand. Keeping it hidden within the folds of his long cloak, covering most of his injury and body.

It was easy to sneak up on them without getting noticed, after all for Morelia was born from the shadows, and to shadows she would return. It was almost boresome how easy it was to prey on others, especially when a touch was all she needed to avoid starving to death --- human flesh wasn’t a necessity she required to survive, but rather just a delight she never wanted to let go of. She continued silently looking the way the silhouette limped next to her, pitying how completely unaware of her presence they were and how easy it would be to just snap its neck. It would be a favor, really, to help them get out of that suffering. Something was off, however. No smell came from the figure, which meant they weren’t human. And that was enough to peak the woman’s interest. If anyone had been watching into the alley, it would’ve looked like she materialized from the thin air. Morelia continued silently observing, her head now cocked to one side, and a dark smirk painted on her face. She wondered how long it would take the other to notice her presence, but the little show was too good to stop it.

Orobas didn’t notice the presence at all, his eyes were on his desires. The laughter on the other side of the windows, their cheer’s with tankards splashing ale over their fat fingers. Orobas shivered in want to hear them scream, to smell their blood-- but as his awareness caught up to him, though very delayed, something sinister curled a snarl to his lips. With a fast turn, he made to shove the person to the wall, the knife pressed to their throat, but he gritted his teeth as his injury moved and shifted, giving his upper body a disjointed, disturbing appearance. His eyes regardless were forward and on the woman. The scent sweet, and alluringly different. “Mhmm,” a throaty sound caught at the back of his throat. “What is so funny.”

A short breath left Morelia’s throat as her back hit the wall, mostly in surprise. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected to be met with such force, but the blade pressed against her fake skin was a nice touch, and she couldn’t help but let out an actual laugh at his words. Not only he looked like he was struggling, but his voice confirmed her how emaciated he was. “Well, you, of course.” A blunt reply, the obnoxious smirk never leaving her face. Her eyes flickered slightly as she took notice of the fangs. The undead weren’t her favorite crowd as there was no magic to steal away, and to say she was disappointed would be the understatement of the century. But, for now, she wasn’t scared but rather very amused, despite the repulsive disfigured torso. The faint chatter coming from the other side of the street was a weird contrast to their current situation. “Rough night, night child?”

Orobas grinned, a feral and stretching smile at her tone. It wasn’t often he was walked up on, laughed at, and also not instantly repulsed. This was why the supernatural should always know one another, they didn’t belong to the world on the other side of this wall. No, they met in alleyways during a war, damaged and grinning. His body groaned in further displacement as he slowly leaned forward towards her smirking face, eyes dancing across the shape of her lips, down the tendon line of her neck with a subtle inhale to the sweet aroma. His arm dropped slowly against his will, weakness a frustrating bolt through his dead chest. “Slayer--” he whispered, a compulsive edge to his tone. “They wanted to cut me in half. Stay still for me-- hmm?”

Both of Morelia’s eyes squinted as the other leaned in, another laugh escaping her. Vampires were such entitled creatures, thinking they could just swipe in with their godly looks and get their way. This was probably her closest encounter with one, and it would be a lie to say she wasn’t curious, but she wouldn’t budge. Not when she could get something in return. Her own hand found its way to the man’s chin. At least that part of his body wasn’t gruesome, giving her a proper grip. Lampades weren’t really known for being exceptionally strong, but she guessed in the state he was it would be enough to keep his eyes at the same level as hers, ready to use her maddening gaze in case of emergency. “Oh, no no no, honey.” She mumbled, her thumb softly tracing his cold skin, careful to not get it bitten. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and she was loving every single bit of it. “Didn’t your master teach you? Everything has a price.”

Orobas’ lips twitched in glee, though she listened and didn’t move, she was good with her words, and weaved her way into more. He loathed he was in such a weakened state, but equally he didn’t entirely feel in danger. His maker was close by, and Orobas didn’t have qualms about putting his fist into someone’s abdomen. But she was beautiful-- and she seemed to be having fun, and Orobas didn’t actually remember what those things felt like. So caught up in his bloodlust night after night. “My, my. You must be so bored with life,” he nipped at her fingers anyway, wanting just the smallest taste. The lightest nic would cut flesh. “To bother me... what do you want, hmm? Why pay a price, when I take what I want, when I want it? Are you so unfamiliar with that feeling? Do you pay a price to feed?”

Feeling the nibble on her finger made Morelia’s smile widen more, the tracing continuing just to toy with him a little longer, realizing that the temptation was eating him alive. He had a way with words, yet he had been so dumb by asking what she wanted. An unknowing deal like that thrilled her, making her heart pump in her chest in excitement. What a twist of fate, she’d left her hideout for a meal and found a banquet instead. “You should know better than to ask me that.” She mumbled, finally dropping her hand. The desire to ask for a favor in return, binding him perhaps for how long to her was tempting, but the moment the sound of mundane laughter hit her again, the fae had other plans for him. “A drop for a body.” A pause, as she gave it more thought, before fixing her hair so her neck was exposed. “A bite for this whole building turned into a graveyard.”

Without warning. Without a single response less the sinking of his gray, thin skin along the hallowed points of Orobas’ face. The red hue bled from iris into the whites of his eyes. The moment her neck exposed, his jaw unhinged in an unnatural way, teeth elongated and sharpened into fine points. He rushed forward with a feral crunch through the tough skin, muscle, and into the ridgid artery with a pressured hiss as heat and blood pulsed against the diamond sharp incisors. In this position not a drop spilled, not even into his mouth, the suction and draw held still. Here is where it could feel good, as he leaned forward, slipping his leg between her own, wrapped the hand with the dagger around the small of her back and bit down with a gentle grind and sucked. The shift bubbled the blood up from the wound warmly, a careful draw that slipped down his throat. Fae. He hummed, never entirely enjoying anything but human blood. That wasn’t the point was it? He would kill everyone in that tavern and drink his fill. His body healed enough to take the hazed edge of permanent death away from him, and as he pulled back enough to sedate his immediate need and bring strength to his stance. He pulled back only to lick the blood from her neck, nipping the edge of her jaw, until his mouth warm with rare breath whispered into her ear. “I’ll kill them for you.”

The feeling of teeth tearing the skin of her neck was something Morelia never, not even in her wildest dreams, thought would happen. She was a proud fae, afterall, and being used by another species for a quick snack was a blow to her ego she thought she could never take away. But still, what was a quick sucking next to the flesh of dozens of people? Her own personal rules could be bended for such opportunity, for her own personal buffet. Still, despite her willingness to let him take her, she found herself groaning in pain from the initial bite; but slowly and steadily, a warm feeling washed over her, and she was shocked to realize she was utterly enjoying the situation in more ways than one should, relaxing to the point that her antlers were no longer hidden. The feeling of his hand against her lower back combined with whatever he was doing with his mouth made her let out a soft moan that was quickly muffled by her own hand flying to cover her mouth, embarrassment taking over her. Thankfully, he was done as fast as he had started, but she couldn’t contain the shaky breath that left her parted lips when he whispered in her ear. “Make it entertaining.” She mumbled back, heart racing as if she had run a marathon, before softly pushing him away to fix her hair, covering his marking. “I’ll be watching, night child.”

He leaned forward, slowly-- blood just tinted flush and brushed the softest kiss to her lips. “Hmm--” He stepped back when she pushed him away, taking in her antlers and fallen glamours, the flush, and the racing beat of her heart. Orobas dropped the cloak off his shoulders, his torso healed enough to be put together again, but the gash had ruined his shirt and showed still as a nasty open wound along his entire chest proving just what that slayer had wanted to do to him. His body groaned as it healed, black veins filled with life essence filtering through to reawaken cells, and revitalize his system. Orobas inhaled an unnecessary breath and exhaled as his red eyes reopened to look at her state and grinned. With a flip of his dagger he walked towards the open door. The business was rowdy, a dozen or so people singing and having fun, and Orobas walked into the establishment looking dangerous, without hiding his true face. The swell of panic was immediate, and something exciting crawled under his skin, the scent of fear perminating the space. Some humans grabbed at one another, but a few made to attack him and he grabbed the wrist of the first person, pulling them in to sink his fangs into their throat, he yanked back with his teeth deepin their artery as a gruesome splatter and chunk of flesh dropped with a plop on the ground. The blood sprayed everywhere, almost comically all over him, and the floor. Orobas laughed, blood slipping out between this teeth as the place exploded in screams. “Ah,” he shivered. “That slayer should have killed me-- this will be on her. I’ll make sure her family knows.”

It was fascinating, to say the least, watching how a vampire recovered after consuming some blood. Morelia had a smirk on her face as she mentally traced his black veins, wondering how they would feel under her touch, before giving him a wink and disappearing once more in the shadows to watch her little circus commence. The screaming and panic made her feel whole, and she almost felt like destiny had given her the wrong set of cards by making her a fae instead of a mara. It wasn’t on her books to let other people do the killing for her; finding her own nails filthy with dry blood after a spree was probably one of her disgusting, secret pleasures, but it somehow felt right to watch someone else do it for her. Although she supposed it wasn’t really for her, since he looked pretty into the whole murdering scene. Still, the lampade walked a short two minutes after him, glamour on once more and letting out a laugh as she leaned on the entrance door frame. “So vengeful.” She teased, looking around the room in hopes of feeling the presence of a spellcaster to get her own taste, but sadly all the present were insignificant, magicless humans. Her gaze meet with the eyes of a young woman, and with the appearance of a twisted grin, her eyes flashed bright for a second, making the human scream in fear. If the vampire didn’t slice her throat, her own maddened brain would kill her. “If you’d died, then we wouldn’t be having this amazing first date, hm?”

Orobas chuckled, feeling better, and alive in pleasure as the humans cowered. The word ‘date’ rolled around in his head, clearly not attuned to such a saying. His hand released the body where is collapsed with a hard thud on the ground. Orobas walked forward towards the table, and the people ran on the other side, a few braver screamed at him to ‘stay back! Monster!!’ but Orobas only dragged his blade along the table, carving a long line into it. One frozen in fear near the ground trembled, and Orobas lowered himself, petting their cheek. His gaze bore into her mind, a nudge of compulsion that settled deeply into her mind Pressing his bloody fingerprints into her cheeks and squeezing her face. “Go out in the streets, shout the Park family is to cause for this slaughter. Tell everyone you know it to be true.” She nodded and ran out the door. Without a seconds more delay, Orobas attacked everyone, a scream filled horror show as people tried to climb out of the windows, only to be pulled back inside and meet their end. He was healed afterwards from drinking plenty, though exhausted from the entire night. Standing in the middle of the tavern, surrounded in bodies, his blade dripping to the ground, and his eyes on the other. Orobas grinned, closing his eyes and savoring. “Mhm--”

Morelia found herself watching the scene in deep awe, not doing much to contribute other than moving slightly from the door to let the human run out of it, and a perfectly arched eyebrow was raised in surprise. Letting someone go wasn’t technically part of their deal, but she supposed one body wouldn’t really make a difference when her system could only manage to eat one. And oh, there were tons, her feet moving her through the bloody room until she was sitting on one of the few tables left standing. Had this happened a century later, she would’ve felt like a Harley Quinn meeting her own personal Joker, but for now, she just wanted to take him to the front line so she --- no, so they could continue feasting. But of course, she only stared, letting out a laugh every now and then when someone tried to run away from him, letting him have all the fun he seemed to be having, and all the blood he so desperately needed. Vampires and fae didn’t really mix well together. Once the slaughter was over, Morelia jumped down from her seat, looking down at the nearest corpse. Any would do, but she’d just wait for him to leave to eat. “You did good.” She mumbled, approaching him. She stood next to him, curiosity still radiating from her body as she once more traced her finger over his lips, wondering if he’d try to bite again. “Thank you.”

Did she need such a show? Was this all a little clever fae game? Did she even know that he was immortal and could spend eternity seeking her out again? Orobas didn’t often run into the fae, but he knew enough to always find himself curious about them. “The slayer family’s last name is Park. They will hear about it, learn their daughter died, know I did this as a warning. But if you wish, so wish-- you can chase after her,” he nipped her fingers again, but also grabbed her hand with his, threading this own with hers, and kissed the palm. “In a few days and finish her.” He chuckled at her thank you. “You’re welcome. Tell me your name.”

“There’s no need for that.” And it was true, despite everything. The last thing Morelia needed right now (or ever) was unwanted attention as it only made it more difficult for her to feed. It was doubtful that the human would remember her face, but paying a visit would only refresh her mind. “I’m sure you’ll cross paths with her again and finish your work.” She laced her fingers with his, mostly to take his mouth away from from her wrist. For some reason, she trusted him enough to share this unexpected intimacy; but she wouldn’t be a fool and let him near her blood again. “Thought you’d never ask. I’m Morelia. What is yours?”

“Orobas--” The name, however, didn’t come from the man in front of her, but the looming presence behind them. The voice filled with concern, jealousy, and frustration, enough to make Orobas chuckle darkly and look over at his maker. The vampire standing there looked to be in their twenties, beautiful with a boyish charm to them and seemed not be phased by the mess. “We’re leaving.” Orobas nodded, “okay--” he left her fingers with one last kiss, before he walked away, waving lightly while he did. “Be seeing you again, Morelia--”

#x: fated #x: morelia #gore tw #injury tw #body horror tw

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ssaalexblake · 4 years ago

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I am, as they say, That person who has a huge ass pile of books to read that i’ve had, in some cases, for years, but i saw the new Suzanne Collins book was out and got an e-copy and read it immediately, you know, as you do when you have a huge pile of books to get through.

anyway, spoilers, definitely ---

I’ve never actually read a Book where the whole story was from the perspective of a terrible protagonist, i have read books where there have been spare chapters from the perspective of villains, but never has the villain been the Protagonist before in my experience. And this protagonist was showing danger signs of a seriously pathological narcissistic personality from the opening world building chapters, and it only got worse and worse as the stakes in his life got higher and higher.

And here’s the thing, i Know people were immediate and vapid in attacking Collins for this when the plot summary were released, and i will admit, my eyes rolled so very much at the immediate assumption that this was a story to make you sympathise wigh him, because, simply, i’ve read the trilogy. Collins’ doesn’t even make her Hero characters that sympathetic a lot of the time, with the exception of Prim and Rue, whose literary function demanded them to be symbols of purity and innocence, practically everybody else is in a shade of grey. The victors we love all have blood on their hands, even Peeta, who is also a symbol for non violent ideals, is corrupted by the narrative. This is not a series that is particularly nice to it’s cast of characters, even when we are meant to Like them.

But now after some brief fandom browsing i am now just going ‘wtf’ at the idea that people are Still holding onto the idea After having read it that, just because a story is about a bad guy, the author Must somehow be endorsing their actions. I’ve literally never read a story with a more unsympathetic protagonist. What a Disgusting person.

This story revealed that the villain is a pathological and possessive narcissist who is very much the hero of his own story, but sure as hell nobody else’s.

I also noted that people have been commenting that the book is too Coincidental in its references and that it made it a bad story, that they were just for clout. That Snow is in 12. The lake. The bakery and so on and so on, and that it put people off and seemed just a grab to keep people interested, but the thing is, it’s a Ballad. This isn’t ‘the novel of songbirds and snakes’, it’s ‘the Ballad’. It plays out, contextually, with the deliberate knowledge that all the readers have read how this story ends in the trilogy, as one of the covey’s songs.

I’m not sure how to phrase it, but i feel like viewing the story and plot itself as more of a folk song or limerick is the best way to look at it from, it’s not Meant to be a novel. It’s a Ballad. The literary devices in two such storytelling methods are very different, in a ballad i would Expect this type of thing which is fair because the book is named a ballad. In a novel i would find it a bit too coincidental, but i don’t think that was how we were supposed to look at it.

That all aside, i never actually had any feelings for Snow beyond the literary device he embodied, the power so vast and beyond you it is hopeless to even think of defying it. Now i have Many feelings about Snow, namely, that i actively hate him now.

This book may actually play out as a cautionary tale about being careful of narcissists, actually, and taking care to make sure they do not end up amassing too much power.

I would say Collins portrayed Snow as a mixture of the old Nurture versus Nature debate, his absolute lust for total control to no longer be the victim of something as horrific as the war was Clearly a case of circumstance... If he had never been in the war, he would not have felt the sheer powerlessness that has led to his absolute need for control.

There is also the other angle of his nurturing that plays into this, his Absolute sense of entitlement as a Snow. He was born a Snow, not some lowly normal capitol family, or worse, one of those ‘district animals’. In his mind, what was rightfully His was stolen from him when they lose the business in the war because of district 13, he got bit in the ass by capitalism, hilariously. His family’s business went under, and the loss of income from it took them from hero to zero, but he though he was Owed his money and status by virtue of his birth and did not see how fragile the perch of his wealth and status was even After the perch had been toppled and he was left penniless. The presence of irrefutable evidence that nothing but access to more dollars provided his life style did not even break through his entitlement.

But i mean, there are a lot of entitled capitalists in this world who think that just because they Used to have money and a thriving business means they are entitled to always have that, and while it makes them not that great, it doesn’t exactly make them Monsters. But here’s the thing, you also cannot claim that Snow is not just naturally a self centered narcissist. That is just a personality trait, and it is This that makes the above a horrifying problem.

When somebody else is harmed, it is about how it will effect Him. The tragedy in being assigned district 12, girl, was not that a girl was being stolen away to be murdered, but that he got stuck with one of the kids unlikely to win. Tigris’ implication of what she may have had to do to keep their family operating was first and foremost about how uncomfortable and disgusted it made Him. Other were reduced to utter horrors to survive the war and he judged them for it, all the while, he only escaped such a thing because of a crime his grandmother committed (looting was, technically, illegal). Clemmie maybe needing him? It wasn’t about her or her life, it was about how it might effect Him (to a point, it is fair to fear for your own life in such a situation, but most would bother to feel bad about it). This is just a handful of examples, but there are many, many more.

He is also Horrifyingly possesive. He, Literally, is a textbook case of an abusive boyfriend who kills their girlfriend because they might have priorities other than him. Lucy Gray may not be dead, i was not left with the impression he succeeded in killing her, but the deal sealer is in the attempt, not whether he succeeds. The entire narrative in his head towards his relationship with lucy contains every danger sign i’ve ever been warned against in men. He wishes to Own her, not love her, and that he was literally given her life on a plate as an experiment did not help with his narcissistic entitlement. His family and friends (though, he did not have friends) all assumed he loved her and because they said it he assumed it was true. But it was possession he was feeling.

He did not help Lucy out of the goodness of his heart, it was self serving. It was self serving the entire time. Us, having knowledge of his internal monologue are aware of his self centered intentions, but the characters around him, unaware of this, treat him as if he is a good person because they assume he has charitable motives. He very much does not. Him comforting Clemmie was, every step of the way, for his own benefit. He Certainly was not the saint Sejanus thought he was.

But he still Believes the people who tell him how great he is!!! Narcissist.

he is, in short, a right piece of work. What a monster it takes to get your ‘brother’ executed for treason and manage to make it about himself in about an Hour. What a monster it takes to attempt to do that to Lucy Gray. What a monster it takes to get the Plinth’s only child killed and take his inheritance and power out of a sense of entitlement and continue calling the grieving mother ‘ma’.

Anyway, brilliant character building. I Hate him.

I also Love the world building, the confirmation that Reaping Day is on July 4th, the idea that in the beginning even the capitol citizens thought the hunger games were barbaric and depressing and that they had to be won over by a propaganda campaign of dehumanization and entertainment. The idea that mentors were once capitol citizens, that it went wrong so they erased it from history but cherrypicked the parts that worked.

I found Dr Gall or whatever her name was gravitating towards Snow interesting, because people who are like that Naturally gravitate towards people who prove their world views right, and by all rights Snow does turn out very much like her (admittedly, with less an interest in science), who is to say she in turn was not less of a monster in earlier life but grew into it as well? She saw something in him and nurtured it with poison.

This is getting increasingly more random, But i love Peeta’s highjacking now. I was never against it, but it was never the plot for me, but now i am So into it. Because Sejanus is Very peeta like, that idealism. And how satisfying it must have been for Snow to finally be able to crack into that and destroy it because he has the Power to do so now.

On the flip side, I actually now wish we had Peeta perspective chapters, because there is a compelling argument to say Snow and Peeta have their similarities, too. I mean, their defining difference is that Peeta is a good person, but they have the same talent for sheer manipulation as each other, Peeta manipulated hunger games audiences into keeping Katniss alive longer, Snow did the same with Lucy Gray. They are both deeply charismatic, generally liked by their peers, popular, are sabotaged by small groups of people who hate them for reasons beyond their control. They are inversions, same coin, different sides.

The sexual slavery of the victors is now a more narratively interesting thing, as well, because snow is, in this book, Disgusted by the idea of any kind of sexual impropriety (not My opinion, but he considers it impropriety). He is disturbed by Tigris’ implication she may have had to engage in it. Was what he did to the victors merely a case of his disdain for district animals and wishing to subject them to the most degrading thing as possible? How did he get from A to B here?

Seeing the very first career pack was interesting, too. I wonder if the stronger districts started to band together in the games from realising the strategy had advantages or of the capitol subtly Encouraged the behavior themselves. The latter seems more likely, considering they were the ones out for a good show.

I was interested on canon confirmation on the peacekeepers, to be honest. I’ve seen fic discuss where exactly they come from, but to know they are made up from less wealthy capitol citizens And district people after either money/a way out of their assigned district’s profession or both was a nice lore drop.

I know it’s not Confirmed Tigris is the same Tigris who played a part in mockingjay but... it would be so wonderful if she were. Being brought down, in part, by she who nurtured him. Tigris loved Coryo because she thought he was somebody he was not, so when and how did she find out who he Really was?

In the end, i find the idea that this books Shows us Snow created the country we see in the trilogy through the reasoning that A) humanity is terrible and will always fight and try to destroy each other and that B) he decided that if point A was true, he’d amass enough personal power to make sure he would Always be in control of the fights and come out on top of them utterly Fascinating societal commentary, most of which is not really my lane to address so i won’t (also, it’s fairly obvious).

But the idea that Snow was one of the capitol ones who sees the district people in a more favourable light simply because he’s at least willing to admit they’re not zoo animals is Stunning when you put it in context of all the things He does to them. He’s not even close to the worst one and look what he did!

In the end, i think Collins has fleshed out this world and made it more horrifying than it was before. And Panem is meant to be a reflection of our own society’s failings. This book was not to say ‘oh Snow was an actual person so wasn’t That bad’, it was trying to say ‘Snow was an actual person and is Very much terrible’ because the idea is this series is a highlighted reflection of the real bad in our own world. If the monster Snow is cannot be relatable to a real person, how is it any kind of societal commentary at all? He cannot be one dimensional and totally evil from the womb if you want the story to actually say anything.

I also did find this story relied on Collins’ previously seen not necessarily realistic world from the original books to make its point, and i did not expect that to be a deal breaker for so many people considering the story from the trilogy relied on its audience’s skill to read into the meaning rather than the literal at times as well, but i stand by my assertation that the title is meant to be an indication of the type of narrative the book observes, it is a song, which is a very different style of story than that in any other kind of media.

#tbosas #tbosas spoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #admittedly i only read this b/c i know i'd finish it quickly b/c it's not v long and wouldn't be like #reading level hard #b/c i can't be bothered with anything complicated right now #But i did enjoy it #i've enjoyed genuinely hating the person whose head i'm in #who knew

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with TIBERIUS CAPULET, who is TWENTY-SEVEN years old. He is often called TYBALT by the CAPULETS and works as their CAPTAIN. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

There’s a certain power that comes with being born the nephew of one of the gods of Verona, but not enough power to compensate for the STING that comes with not being born his son. It was by some mistake—or perhaps an act of better judgment—of fate that he was born to the lesser brother, to a mere PRINCE of the Capulets rather than the king, and Tiberius has prowled the streets of Verona with every intention of making the universe regret its decision since. Whether the regret be reinforced the breaking of spirits, or of bone – often times the result being both. The city wouldn’t know what to do with a man like him poised to take the throne, a tiger among men, and fate seems to have been equally unprepared; but what he isn’t given as a gift, he perceives as a challenge, and he’s seen enough men rise and fall to know that one doesn’t have to be the king to rule. But despite his rather unfortunate parentage, he was raised in Cosimo Capulet’s household and acquired a HUNGER that his dear cousin didn’t and never would: he wanted blood, for a christening with mere oil and water simply wouldn’t do.

His bloodlust may one day be the end of him, and if it is, few that knew him could look God in the eye and claim to be surprised. Tiberius Capulet was born angry, and odds are, he will die angry; it’s the only fitting end for a man like him—ruthless, violent, VICIOUS. His antagonistic tendencies—believed at first to be attention-seeking whims and then regarded as the mark of a future soldier—had humble beginnings, but they soon grew into something deeper, something dangerous. By the time he turned sixteen, violence was so ingrained in his bones that his soul ached for want of it, and his thirst for it had proven insatiable; no matter how many men he made bleed—no matter how many men he made beg for mercy, one more was never enough. He was taught many a lesson by his father and uncle, but the one he took to heart was this: complacency is COWARDICE. He would never be satisfied—not until he drew his last breath, and probably not even then. It was for this reason that he implored his uncle to initiate him into the mob early, and it was for this reason that Cosimo granted him his wish.

Few men can survive walking the streets of Verona in the dark at seventeen, but Tiberius didn’t survive; he THRIVED. It was as though he’d been born for it—for the sound of a gunshot piercing the night, for the look in a man’s eyes when he realized this monstrous boy would be the last thing he ever saw. It was nothing short of exhilarating, the sheer POWER that came not from being born to the right father, like Juliet, and not from having a mind built for war, like Rafaella, but from being the harbinger of every dark desire his uncle had ever had. His was a crown seized in blood—not inherited by it—and by the time he turned twenty-one, he’d staked a claim to it that no man who wanted to keep his life could contest. He became the youngest and deadliest captain the Capulets had ever seen, and he accepted the whispered title of brute with a wolfish grin. But being a commander in his uncle’s army wasn’t enough for him, and it never would be. He wanted to be the GENERAL.

And one day, he will be. His cousin will make a fair enough leader, he supposes—for now—but this city needs someone who will rule with an iron fist, and Juliana, for all that she’s got a good head on her shoulders, seems far more concerned with morals than any respectable boss should be. But until his uncle realizes that, whether of his own accord or with a bit of convincing, Tiberius is content to lurk in the shadows, claiming more victims and leaving more scars each night, for blood runs thicker even than the ichor of ambition, and he’s nothing if not loyal to his cause and to his family. He’ll ascend to the throne of Verona in the most honorable way he knows: by CONQUERING.

JULIANA & RAFAELLA CAPULET: Cousins. Convincing a man like him to kill for you is easy, but convincing him to spare for you is no small feat—a feat fit for a queen. He loves his cousins the only way he knows how—brutally, but he’s always held the belief that they’re not as fit to lead the mob as he. Rafaella is as sharp as the knives he treasures so much ( perhaps a bit toomuch ), but she’s a bit too subtle for his tastes. Though blood be the only thing that separates them, the two are as thick as thieves and revel like it too. Juliana, for all that she’s Cosimo’s daughter, hardly seems to want the title that will one day be passed to her—and if she does, she damn well doesn’t act like it. He wouldn’t dare hurt them to achieve his own means, but he’s not above a bit of—what does Rafaella call it?—persuasion.

EASTON CRAVEN: Lackey. Some might call it a complex, but it’s far from something he can’t help—it’s deliberate. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes with knowing a man is beneath you and probably always will be, and he’s loath to let the rich brats of Verona forget where they stand. Rafaella has ordered that he play nice with the bambini—as if he knows how—but all bets are off with the younger Craven brother, and he’s found he rather enjoys pushing Easton’s buttons. There are far worse things to be than Cosimo Capulet’s nephew, and being the bastard of a rich man is one of them. As is foretold in the bible, the lambs are being separated from the goats – and the dragon in the sky is meant to consume them all.

MARCELO ROSSO: Bastard. “Careful, Rosso. I hear the likes of you are rather flammable.” He’s struck low blow after low blow in regards to the Montague captain, and Tiberius has no intentions of stopping until they’re dead—preferably at his hands. For all that he’s a bit of a brute, he doesn’t often hate his targets as personally as he does Marcelo, and it’s this anomaly that has distinguished them in a way few others have managed. The top of the ruthless captain’s list is hardly an enviable place to be, but his enemy can take comfort in the fact that they’re in good hands. He’s an expert at this sort of thing—a veteran—and he’ll make it an end to remember.

REGINA DALY: Hook-up. He’s unpredictable and inconsistent in all aspects of life, save for the trysts he engages in with the Daly woman. It was an arrangement made with no strings attached – hearts, not even thought to be considered, for he doubted either of them had one. But, moreover, he did it for the sake of keeping an eye on a potential enemy – on a threat that lurks within the walls of the church that the Capulets regard as home. Though the enemy may be running rampant in the streets, sometimes it happens to wander into one’s own home. And if he manages to get a little animalistic pleasure out of his duties? Then all the better.

Tiberius is portrayed by KEITH POWERS and was written by BREE. He is currently TAKEN by CAS.

#lsrp #lsrpg #rpg #bio rp #mob rpg #keith powers fc #m #cap #t #tm

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precaffeinatedsalomon · 6 years ago

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Could You Pass the Brains Please? Western Zombies in Korean Film, Train to Busan (2016)

Could You Pass the Brains, Please?

Western Zombie Mythology Used to Reflect on Eastern Anxieties in Train to Busan (2016)

On April 16, 2014, South Korea suffered the horror of losing over three hundred of its citizens-mostly Middle School aged children- to the neglect of what is now called the Sewol Ferry Disaster. In 2015 the Country fell into a panic as the number of Middle East Respiratory Virus (MERS) outbreak deaths increased while Governmental disclosure on the matter decreased. In 2016, One-fifth of the South Korean population saw the release of its very first zombie film, Train to Busan. This essay argues that Film Director, Yeon Sang Ho appropriated the flexibility for metaphor the Western Zombie Mythology provides to critique Korean society, their government, and reflect on contemporary anxieties.

Though Korean Zombies may be new in the East, from Haiti to Hershel’s Farm the United States has 80 years’ worth of Zombie lore in their popular culture arsenal. In How to Make a Zombie, Frank Swain recounts the first-time zombies entered into consciousness around the world. He explains how in 1889 well respected Harper’s Magazine journalist Lafcadio Hearn went to the Caribbean Islands in search of evidence about rumors of “walking dead” haunting which haunted the islands. When inquiring about zombies to locals, Hearn would get descriptions based on complex Haitian “Vodou tenets” which only confused Hearn, who never got to see one. The descriptions, in essence, boiled down to a “zombie cadaver” being “a physical entity that is living but has not will of its own.” ( Swain 3-7) Hearn’s article on zombies went on to intrigue the colorful William Seabrook, an American writer and explorer, as well as a drunk, sadist, abuser, and experimental cannibal. In 1928, Seabrook traveled to Haiti to investigate the phenomenon. In 1929, he published his findings in what eventually became a best seller book titled The Magic Island. In his book, he describes what he saw when locals took him to visit a sugar plantation: “My first impression of the three supposed zombies, who continued dumbly at work, was that there was something about them unnatural and strange. They were plodding like brutes, like automatons, the eyes were the worst…They were in truth like the eyes of a dead man…the whole face…was vacant, as if there was nothing behind it.” (Swain 8-13) It continues, that while attempting to make conversation with one of the zombies, he was told [blacks’] affairs are not for whites” (Swain 14), a line that would later be used in one the first Hollywood zombies in film rendition.

What Seabrook called zombies, were likely slaves working 18-hour days in sugar plantations during the United States occupation of Haiti. In 1804, Haiti was considered a “threat to imperialism” and was vilified in the Western world after successfully gaining independence from France with a well-staged rebellion. Despite efforts by the Catholic Church to influence Haitian natives, Voodooism was a deeply embedded part of the culture. Because of this in the West, “Voodoo culture was perceived to be a signifier of the country’s savage inferiority” (Crockett)- Anxieties that would later be reflected in film. Haiti’s freedom and independence ended when in 1918 the United States invaded the country in fear of how the political unrest there would affect their business ventures in that country, particularly the Haitian-American Sugar Company (HASCO). Haiti was recolonized until 1934, with what Swain laments as “enduring consequences for the country and its people” (Swain 6-7). Zombie’s origin story becomes important in how they would later become represented in film.

From 1932 to the present; from xenophobia to extremism, zombie representations in film have morphed over time as metaphors to externalize, examine and critique the era’s social anxieties. The Bela Lugosi led, White Zombie (1932), is considered the first full-length zombie film. In it, a man convinces a couple to celebrate their wedding in Haiti. While there, the man uses a Voodoo master to steal the bride away from her fiance and keep her to himself. Unfortunately for him, she turns into an unfeeling person in a zombie-like state. Complaining to the Voodoo master only gets him turned into a zombie himself (IMBD) Luckily, “in the end, the white couple emerges unharmed, and the voodoo master is pushed off a cliff to his death” Though criticized, the film’s success saw a series of similarly plotted and themed films. Such as, In Ouanga (1936), Walked With a Zombie (1943)VOX explains that “until the 1940s, zombies were largely a reflection of the fears of voodooism and blackness.” (Vox) In other words, an externalization of xenophobia and sense of white superiority.

After WWII, from the 1950s to mid-1960s, zombies films like Zombies of the Stratosphere (1952) Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959), The Earth Dies Screaming (1964) were used to represent Cold Ward and Space Race anxieties of the time. However, after 1968 in the midst of the social unrest caused by the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights movement, zombies would be changed irrevocably.

The modern zombie was born with George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968). Though the word ‘zombie’ is never is used in the film, from this rendition on, Leo Braudy explains how “instead of being an exotic black monster birthed in the Caribbean, [zombies] become an all-embracing metaphor for the unthinking attitudes and blind obedience of an entire society” (107) The time for zombies to aid in the protest of society begins here.

Supporting this notion, Peter Biskind claims that by taking the zombie- a monster, outside the enclosed spaces of personal dwelling and moving them to the “backyard” … horror could reflect upon contemporary life. Furthermore, having a black hero-five months after the death of Martin Luther King Jr.- killed by the sheriff with the excuse that he thought he was monster, “changed the genre into a vehicle for social commentary”. A vehicle that now is being used by South Korea, just as it has been used in the West. Biskind argues, “zombies lend themselves to metaphoric interpretation; they are an all-purpose ‘Them’, with their significance in the eye of the beholder.” ( 77) Meaning that as a new fear arises, the type of zombie we get will change along with it.

From Romero’s Night of the Living Dead monsters are “reawakened by changing cultural circumstances” (Braudy 107). From here on we get the new codes for zombie lore. Such as a never-ending hunger for human flesh, pack mentality and hunting in kind, inability to stop, one bite, one new victim. Dawn of the Dead (1978) has Romero commenting on consumerist culture as raised by a capitalist society. In the era of the ‘80s to early 2000s with fears of epidemics like AIDS, Swine Flu, and Ebola virus, we get the Contagion Zombie. Braudy claims these apocalyptic zombies reflect “an increasingly globalized world in which diseases spread rapidly across continents and populations due to increased commercial contact, ease of transportation, and openness of borders.” (Braudy 107) As expansion from these fears, we get World War Z (2013). This film shows walls as an attempted tool to keep not only zombies, but humans out. A Vox article argues that the scene in which “Jerusalem is besieged by hordes of zombies, which crawl up the walls like a slow-moving bacterial infection. Unlike the creatures of previous films, these migrant zombies move at fast speeds, with a sense of urgency, riffing on our fear of rapid migration rates.” (Crockett)Fear of migration gives us the television series The Walking Dead. Biskind claims, these zombies are a representation of America’s current extremists’ views.

In Peter Biskind’s, The Sky is Falling, he notes that the way monsters and even superheroes are now represented in Films and Television are making “America great for extremism.” The main premise in his boos is that now, instead of the word ‘extremist’ being an insult, it “has become an accolade while ‘mainstream has become ‘lamestream. These extremist notions, he insists it is this extremists’ that have given us Donald Trump as the 45th President of the United States. Zombies as extremists he continues, “don’t care what we want…Marauding in mobs, they huff and puff until they blow the house down” (Biskind 2, 76). Thus, in addition to representing current extremists’ anxieties in the United States, the post-apocalyptic society currently in vogue also represents a lack of reliable government that is beholden to the people and their interests.

As time passes by, is culture change or change culture? popular culture is regarded tends to be regarded quite poorly as an agent of change, always behind in credited importance to politics or economics, however, Biskind warns, “it’s a mistake to underestimate the power of culture to inflame our emotions. “He states that, despite seeming free and innocent of political ideas, films and TV series are filled with subtle political messages. He concludes, “it’s no exaggeration to say that values, and therefore politics, are embedded in the very fabric of movies. (Biskind 6) The way monsters such as zombies in the film have indexed social change can serve as evidence of how television and film mirror cultural changes.

Watching films or television shows require the conscious effort from the viewer to suspend disbelief. For horror, however, Braudy argues that it goes beyond a simple act of believing what’s on screen, he claims it “goes much deeper, if only for the moment, [you have to believe]in the existence of evil, the possibility for good, and their eternal combat” (Braudy 32) In other words, horror films require more involvement than most other genres.

Before Yeon’s, Train to Busan, there were no zombies in their national folklore. South Koreans have their own monster lore, such as ghosts, goblins, and nine-tailed foxes, but no zombies. However, the West’s zombies film influence and their symbolic traits can be noted in the way the film chose to depict its own zombies. Train, tells the story of a man (Gong Yoo) working as a corporate hedge fund manager, who prefers work above else. He is a neglectful father to his only daughter. In an attempt to make up for missing her birthday, he takes her in a train to the city of Busan to visit her mother. As the doors of the train are about to close, a girl we soon find out is infected, makes it into the train, where chaos occurs as she starts biting people and the contagion spreads.

From this point on it becomes a story of survival and exploration of Korea’s current culture. It is from here on that, the film uses a chimaera of history, codes, and the possibility for social criticism in its zombies and plot devices that Yeon borrows from all the zombie movies from the West and proceeds to break apart, contort, distil, and repurpose to evoke a thought-provoking social commentary in Train.

This LA Times review of the film, support’s this paper’s original claim that South Koreans are using zombies as a metaphor for their social anxieties by stating:

“It's not just the eye-popping visuals and a high-paced monster story that has made "Train" a hit: The movie is also touching a nerve by reflecting the present-day reality of South Korea, an increasingly stratified and competitive a society where many citizens feel elites can't be trusted to lead in times of crisis, and those caught up in the chaos have to fend for themselves. Cine21, one of South Korea's most-read film magazines wrote in a review that "Train" is "motivated by sadness and anger over a situation where the weak cannot be protected." (Browiec)

Two instances which exemplify South Korean’s dissatisfaction with their government are dramatized in Train are, the Sewol Ferry accident and the MERS epidemic. One of the greatest reasons for anger in the Sewol Ferry accident was how easily the children could have been saved if they had not listened to Ferry captain that it would all be alright. This combined with the long Coast Guard response time to come to the rescue and the Captain taking a boat to save himself while the rest drowned seemed like an inconceivable rude awakening to people in that country. Additionally, in the MERS epidemic case, the government failed to notify its citizens of what was happening with the virus, how to prevent it from spreading further, or even what symptoms to look for to get it treated at the hospital.

These moments of shared grief and anger are externalized in Train. In it, we see how the people do not trust the government, quickly set up factions, and it is the elitist corporate man who is willing to use everyone else to save himself at every turn. In a powerful metaphoric moment in the film, this corporate man and similarly minded others, expel from the finally secured train cart the pregnant protagonist- whose husband had fought and died to protect them earlier in the film, two teenagers, the main father and his daughter to a different train cart after they had finally saved themselves from the zombies. They are in essence, being sent to die. In a plot twist, an elderly woman whose sister had already turned into a zombie, disgusted with the mob’s selfish actions opens up the door that had until that moment served as the only protection from the zombie horde. The message of how such attitude and mentality will ultimately lead to collective doom is hard to miss.

It could be claimed that with the success of Train to Busan and its symbolic power, more zombie films and TV shows are being made. In Kingdom (2019) A Netflix original series takes zombies to Korea’s Joseon period, and Train to Busan 2 which is expected to hit theaters next year. Now the question is, just as South Korea learned to express their anxieties from the United States’ example of doing so, will The United States be clever enough to learn from South Korea and learn how to protest against a corrupt government and get rid of an incompetent president.

Works Cited

Biskind, Peter. The Sky is Falling: How Vampires, Zombies, Androids, and Superheroes Made America Great fro Extremism. New York: The New Press, 2018.

Braudy, Leo. Haunted On Ghosts, Witches, Vampires, Zombies, and Other Monsters of The Natural and Supernatural Worlds. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2016.

Browiec, Steven. "Korea's Smash Summer Hit Is A Zombie Movie That Strikes a Deep Chord." The Los Angeles Times 16 August 2016. www.latimes.com/world/asia/la-fg-korea-zombie-movie-snap-story.html.

Crockett, Zachary and Zarracina, Javier. How the Zombie Represents America's Deepest Fears. 31 October 2016. www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2016/10/31/13440402/zombie-political-history.

Swain, Frank. How to Make a Zombie. The Real Life (and Deaths) Science of Renimation and MInd Control. Terragon: OneWorld Publications, 2013.

Train to Busan. Yeon Sang-Ho, et. al. Next Entertainment World, 2013. Netflix.

#train to busan #gong yoo #zombies #haitian vodou #george romero #world war z

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collusioncomics · 6 years ago

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Collusion Underworld

Happy Halloween, Collusionoids! I’ve had this entry floating around for a while, but with the shift towards villains this month I figured Halloween weekend would be the perfect time to drop some vampires into the mix! Enjoy!

Evil things lurk in the dark corners of the world and the hearts of man kind. Blood thirsty fiends and unholy ghouls prey on the weak to fill their ranks with more cold bodies. After a long period of decline for the vampire race, [Dracula/The Mandarin] has chosen the 21st century to be the era of the vampire’s return as his millennia old conquest of mankind reaches a crescendo. Wielding his dark cybernetic signet rings, [Dracula/Mandarin]'s legion of followers spread his influence throughout the business world of men. His new war for the immortal soul of mankind is one fought in board rooms and on factory floors and in legislators’ pockets rather than on the field of battle.

Over the centuries [Dracula/Mandarin] has acquired a number of adversaries, chief among them, [I Ching/Quincy Harker], a taoist mystic and martial arts master, the inheritor to a family legacy of knowledge and techniques, responsible for training multiple generations of vampire hunters in China, and as of late the world at large. He is himself astonishingly and arguably inhumanly long lived, but is fast approaching the end of his life and has grown desperate to oversee the end of the vampire menace in his lifetime. Among his star pupils are...

[Jonah Hex/Blade], an American gunslinger that he met while pursuing [Dracula/Mandarin]’s legions across the Pacific hidden among the immigrant railroad workers. [Hex/Blade] was born of a woman turned by [Dracula/Mandarin] himself while she was pregnant. He was rescued by [I Ching/Harker] during a raid on a vampire nest before he could himself be either turned or killed. His mother is believed to have been one of the surviving vampires to escape the slaughter. As a rebellious teenager he parted ways with his mentor, unsatisfied with the pace of their crusade against the vampires. He would strike out on his own as a bounty hunter and exterminator of vampires across the continental US. Despite occasional efforts to work together during the wild est era, the two would eventually stay apart for nearly a century before being reunited in [I Ching/Harker]’s final crusade.

[Rip Hunter/Hannibal King] a vampire hunter from the far flung future, who sought out the legendary mentor to learn secrets lost to his future world. In his quest to undo the vampire ruled dystopia that he was born in, he seeks the sire vampire lords responsible for the conquerors of his future, not to vanquish them but to subtly alter their histories. At risk of erasing his reality entirely, [Hunter/King] pinpoints pivotal moments in each vampire’s history to weaken their footholds in the war against mankind, so that every subsequent effort grows weaker and weaker, maintaining the basic outline of events that make his reality, while nudging every outcome in the favor of mankind; each defeat being less and less catastrophic, every survivor left to grow ever stronger, until his resistance in the future can topple their vampire oppressors.

[Dr.Light/Dr.Sun]: In order to develop a cure for vampirism to liberate the people of his homeland, and cure his own vampirism, [Dr.Light/Dr.Sun] would flee to America to conduct his experiments outside the reach of [Dracula/Mandarin]’s influence. Unfortunately many of his experiments would prove less than ethical or humane, and eventually he would become so desperate that he would begin turning innocent people into vampires just to continue his experiments without risking hunting active vampires or drawing his nemesis’ attention. Of his various test subjects, the one who would prove one of the most successful and loyal would be...

[Dr. Phosphorus/Lucas Brand], an assistant originally sent to spy on [Dr.Light/Dr.Sun] under the pretense of industrial espionage as an agent of [Dracula/Mandarin]. He was however entirely unaware of his benefactor’s true nature and so tragically unaware of what was happening when [Dr.Light/Dr.Sun] discovered his deception and resolved to use him as his next subject. When the process was complete, [Phosphorus/Brand] had been turned and physiologically altered to do away with his vampiric weakness to daylight. By consequence however his body’s physical resistance but unholy weakness to the sun would cause his skin to produce a layer of intense ultraviolet light and thermal radiation upon contact with sunlight. With prolonged exposure the effect increases in intensity, and with practice and use of some chemical suppressants he would learn to store limited amounts of energy, allowing him to activate the effect on command and outside of direct sunlight. The energy coat itself mimics sunlight, making him a walking beacon of death to vampires while active.

In the modern day, [Dracula/Mandarin] is worshiped as the era’s sire to all vampires, and the primary antagonist of all vampire hunters, but behind him is a long legacy...

[Per Degaton/Varnae] long hidden in shadow was and is the oldest vampire in existence, and perhaps the first. He once led the Mongols to invade China, and it was against the threat of the vampire hoards that the Great Wall was erected. It was under [Per Degaton/Varnae]’s reign that the age of exploration saw vampires stretch across every corner of the globe and establish their first global network. And although he has remained an enigmatic figure throughout modern history he will one day return to prominence in the distant future.

In these long distant days across history, before the rise of the super hero, [Vandal Savage/Kraven the Hunter] once deemed vampires to be the ultimate game. It was [Vandal/Kraven] who led the first decline of the vampire race. Although he has since turned his attentions away from the vampire legions, even as they grow in number, he does regard [Per Degaton/Varnae] to be a worthy prey and laments his escape. In those rare dire moments where [Per Degaton/Varnae] is forced into the open and must confront his enemies himself, you can be sure [Vandal/Kraven] will have allied himself with them, only to get a last stab at the prey that escaped.

Eventually his immature primordial self would be the target of [Hunter/King], an encounter he survive, and remain mindful of for the rest of his millennia long lifespan.

Before the 13th century silk trade facilitated [Dracula/Mandarin]’s expansion into Europe and heralded in his dark global empire, the most prominent lords of the classical western world had been the feuding lovers, [Cain, Sire of All Vampires/Victoria Montesi] & [Mary, Queen of Blood/Typhoid Mary]. Conjured by dark magic, [Cain/Victoria] was brought into the world believing to be a normal human being. It was her dark nature that drew [Mary/Mary] to her while leaving her incorruptible. But her innate darkness spread thru her lover, giving birth to a new breed of vampire. These new thrall not only felt the cold touch of death, bottomless hunger, and soulless pain of the undead, they heard the whispers and saw visions of a greater and otherwordly evil. In truth, [Cain/Victoria] was the vessel of a much higher power, one that wrought madness into the world with every human thought that so much as grazed the form of its abstract reality. In time this madness drove a wedge between the two and even fractured [Mary/Mary]’s psyche. The two would wage war with their children for generations until the two forces would come to conspire against their mothers. But with their unfathomable powers amplified by dark and unholy power, all that could be done to stop them was to wipe their memories and separate the two to keep from rekindling either passion or fury.

In the present, [Mary/Mary] remains dormant in the guise of a human woman, with her memories and her vampirism each magically compartmentalized in their own personae. [Cain/Victoria] remains similarly dormant, but the dark voice of her creator has remained ever present and unrestrained over the centuries. While she herself, as an artificially conjured human, is immune to his maddening whispers, she has left an nigh imperceptible trail of lunacy in her wake. Both go about their new lives, latest iterations in a long line of past lives they’ve lived until obscure vampire cults seek the two out in order to bring about a vampire renaissance and revive their deranged legion, and the two find themselves again bidden to war with one another, even as they struggle to understand why or who they even are/were.

There are of course countless other vampires active across the Collusion universe, both under direct command and independent of notable vampire lords with grand schemes; There are dhampir and reformers fighting their brethren and sires; But in a world familiar with the long history of vampires, however shrouded in myth, there are also pretenders and pseudo vampires operating under the umbrella of vampire activity.

One such imposture is [Maxi Zeus/Dracula], The Impaler. Once the CEO of a major book publisher, he suffered a psychotic break after an encounter with a real vampire. He was not actually turned, nor was he the target of the vampire that attacked him, but the resulting psychotic break convinced him that he is the resurrected form of the historical Vlad Tepes Dracula. As such he resumes the fictional Dracula’s conquest of the western world via business acquisition and criminal dealings, while also masquerading under his vampire guise at night; stalking, murdering, and draining the blood of his victims.

Another super villain (and occasional anti-hero) oft mistaken for a vampire by terrified onlookers is [Killer Croc/Morbius], Max Murnau. The subject of an experiment to cure him of a rare degenerative disease using crocodile DNA. The perpetual growth of a crocodile outpaced but failed to stop the degeneration, and with it came an insatiable hunger. As such [Killer Croc/Morbius] periodically “sheds” dying flesh from his now abnormally large form, and must regularly feed on organic matter to fuel his continual healing and growth. Because of his outer layer of necrotic flesh, prominent fangs, and bloodthirsty disposition he is sometimes called The Orlok.

This was supposed to just be a “[Jonah Hex/Blade] & Friends” sorta deal back in the very first draft, but got way out of hand. I actually had to dial back a lot of extra entries in this just to keep it semi-reasonable in length and flow. There are quite a lot of vampires running around between the two companies and considering our pretense of avoiding redundancies, what was going to be a tiny niche corner of the Collusion universe very quickly leaked into larger events and continuities once vampire characters start merging with the general company wide population of heroes and villains. Looker, Scream Queen, Jubilee, the Barons Blood, Nocturna, The Mad Monk, Raizo Kodo, La Sangre, Nightrider, Carnivore, Nosferata, are just some of the characters we’d batted around (hurr hurr) before realizing just how bloated the tiny vampire corner of the world was getting. Likely, many will likely pop up in later entries as adversaries or allies to more pillar characters, but for now a shroud of obscurity hangs over them...

Hey there, newcomer! If you are in fact new to this blog, I’m sure you’re a little confused. But if this has been the kind of confused you enjoy, then check out our about page to have maybe less confused and more enjoy?

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brutality-legacy · 6 years ago

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100+ Lyric Prompts

Here’s a list of lyrics that can be used as prompts or inspiration for stories.

Feel free to add on to this list, send some of these in if you want to see them written or reblog it for yourself. Whatever inspires you!

I will be updating this periodically and will reblog the updated version!

Dark

Caught up in this madness too blind to see / woke animal feelings in me / took over my sense and I lost control / I'll taste your blood tonight

A murderer walks your street tonight

And now when I speak, I speak to kill

Stalked in the forest too close to hide / I'll be upon you by the moonlight side

If you want survival kneel on my arrival

I am a scavenger / a vulture if you will / and if the price is right / I’m not averse to kill

Wish that you could but you ain't gonna own me / Do anything you can to control me

I'm the queen of pain / I can make it thunder and rain / I can turn the clouds black in the sky / I can put all those tears in your eyes

So death is coming to purge this town / I know your name / And I'm gonna hunt you down

I don't bring forgiveness / I don't bring peace / I've come to slay you / Come to kill the beast

So gather ye demons / It seems it's your day / I’ve sinned but I’ve paid more than 10,000 graves

The devil's gonna come when the sun go down.

Till my final breath / There'll be dust and death

Before I die / I'll take every soul I can into the night

Angst

He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man

Step by step, heart to heart, left right left / We all fall down like toy soldiers / Bit by bit, torn apart, we never win / But the battle wages on for toy soldiers

Victims, aren’t we all?

This night will hurt you like never before

Awake at night you focus on everyone who’s hurt you / Then write a list of targets / Your violent lack of virtue

I admit I was wrong to let you in

When I wake up to the sound of demons / they're always telling me that I'm no good

What have I got to lose / when I’ve already lost it all?

Have you ever been abused by someone so brutal that it chills your soul / have you ever been afraid of your own ghost?

I'm just a creature of a broken past

I'm doing what I can to fight this anger / I'm just a product of a living hell

To save your life I would race to my grave

There’s no pain I wouldn’t go through / Even if I have to die for you

Oh, dear mother, I love you / I'm sorry, I wasn't good enough / Dear father, forgive me / 'Cause in your eyes, I just never added up

Oh, dear brother, just don't hate me / for never standing by you or being by your side / Dear sister, please don't blame me / I only did what I thought was truly right

In my heart I know I failed you

It's a long and lonely road / When you know you walk alone

If I could hold back the rain / Would you numb the pain / Cause I remember everything

We build cathedrals to our pain / Monuments to attain / Freedom from all of the scars and the sin / lest we drown in the darkness within

You don't have the guts to love me like you wish you could

I must leave you cause I know your kind / You'd wake me up just to say goodbye

And I know that's not a tear in your eye / Cause boys don't cry and neither do I

At least I gave it a try but you had bourbon in your eyes

I've betrayed you and it should be a sin

One day you will understand / Why I pushed you away as I ran

I ain’t never been a keeper / Despicable / Love her then I leave her / And if I were you I wouldn’t love me neither

Take my life / Just not today

Will you swear on your life / That no one will cry / At my funeral

I'm a dead man walking / Hell's at my door / I'm a shadow of the man I was before

And I admit I am emotionally scared to let anyone inside

Happy/Comfort

We are not alone / It's darkest before the hope / You and I, we're not alone

Hope is a fire to keep us warm

I smile up to the sky / I know I'll be all right

There is no storm we can not weather

When you’re lost and need to be found / I will look forever

Never knew a time / When you weren't by my side / The one thing I could always count on

Just open your eyes / and see that life is beautiful

Just keep me close / There is no storm we can not weather

While my roots hid deeper inside / And my leaves stay bundled up tight / I felt my faith get bigger than life / Not only did I survive / I learned to blossom

Romantic

When it all comes down / when it starts to fall like an avalanche / I will be your wall / I will hold you up / Go against them all

I'll set you free when you're locked in a cell / I’ll find you heaven when you're lost in hell

I had a dream the other night / about how we only get one life / woke me up right after two / I stayed away and stared at you so I wouldn’t lose my mind

And if we only live once I wanna live with you

With broken words I tried to say / ‘Honey don’t you be afraid, if we’ve got nothing we’ve got us.’

I’m so into you / I can barely breath

Let’s get inside your car / just you, me, and the stars

I tried to be chill but you're so hot I melted

Our time is short / This is our fate / I'm yours

You asked me how long I'd stay by your side / So I answered with only just one reply / Till the casket drops

And it turns out s/he's got everything I want / but all rolled into one

You make me smile / please, stay for a while now

Gaze into my eyes, when the fire starts / And fan the flame so hot, it melt our hearts

Once I'm in I own your heart

Welcome to my cage, little lover / Attempt to rearrange with you, baby / Still don’t know your name, Miss Honey / Let’s go up in flames, pretty lady

You’re rich and I'm wishin', um / You could be my mister, yum

You taste like the fourth of July / Malt liquor on your breath, my, my / I love you but I don’t know why

He had a cigarette with his number on it / He gave it over to me, “Do you want it?” / I knew it was wrong but I palmed it / I saved it, I waited, I called it

I can't believe it / When did I start to fall for you?

I think... oh, well, what am I to do? / I didn't know that I would fall in love with you

I just bite my tongue / And when I want to say I love you I'll say ‘Boop’

She got blood cold as ice / And a heart made of stone / But she keeps me alive / She's the beast in my bones / She gets everything she wants / When she gets me alone

I don't judge you love / I never have before / We make mistakes / We leave them by the door

I found love / Where it wasn’t supposed to be

Sexual

Hold my arms above my head and push my face into the bed / Cause I'm a screamer baby / Make me a mute

Wanna wrestle with me baby? / Here's a sneak little peak / You can dominate the game cause I'm tough

Every caress is a medicine / Bringing me to my knees

The more we drank the less that we had on

Take the pain / Take the pleasure / I’m the master of both

Imma hold ya down until you're amazed / Give it to ya 'til you're screaming my name

I wanna fuck you like an animal / I wanna feel you from the inside

I ache for the touch of your lips, dear / But much more for the touch of your whips, dear / You can raise welts like nobody else / As we dance to the masochism tango

I'ma give it to you stronger / Hands up / We can go a little longer

I'm dominant by definition / I'm turned on by your submission

Latex, chains and whips make me hard and excite me / Come on, throw your hands up and pretend you wanna fight me

Fight

Take a last look around while you're alive / I'm an Indestructible Master of War

I know that blood will be spilled / and if you won’t then I will / My grave will never be filled / it’s either kill or be killed

Sleep for today, but tomorrow we fight

I am one man but I'll stand like an army of soldiers

To bring you peace I'll go into war / Ain't afraid of the rain I trained in a storm

The war was on its way / And we were waiting

We'll crush our enemies / Bring them to their knees

Wake the white wolf at the dawn of war / the end of the age is coming now

Hate

My heart it glows as you decompose

And I wonder can you hear me laughing / Cause I'm dancing on your grave

But I want you to know / I always hated you / Hated you from hello

Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do? / I don't give a damn if you say you disapprove

Misc

I straddle the line in discord and rhyme

Sitting here at my grave side I've never been so alive

I'm your Guardian angel and a part of you's tangled

When everyone wears a mask who's the real villain?

Nothing's going to stop me but divine intervention

It’s like a dead masquerade / so come and dance with me

I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet / You thought an angel swept you off your feet

I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea

I'm neon phosphorescent / Open like a Christmas present

And then you say I'm as cold as November

Every chatelaine / Wants to share her reign / So come and join me in my castle

Your blood’s gone bad / I knew it would

I was born under a bad sign / With a blue moon in my eyes

The boy who fell into the sky / Had no one there to watch him cry / He looked at you with his empty eyes / And said, “I’m doing you a favor”

Let me know / Where I can go to save my soul

Don’t threaten me with a good time

Don't you ever tame your demons / But always keep 'em on a leash

But my peace has always depended / On all the ashes in my wake

Days of rust / Nights of rain / Kingdom comes with a ball and chain

It's strange what desire makes foolish people do

I could be the hero / I could be the villain / It doesn’t really matter / I have the power

I was sent to warn you / The devil's in the next room

Keen to the scent / The hunt is my muse

You’ll fall like a guillotine / And kneel before the queen

Am I the only one I know / Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat

'Cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind

Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost

Took an oath by the blood of my hand / Won't break it

Do you feel the hunger / Does it howl inside / Does it terrify you / Or do you feel alive

To capture a predator / You can’t remain the prey / You have to become an equal in every way

#Prompts #Lyric Prompts #writing prompt #writing games #inbox prompts #long post

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alixofagnia · 7 years ago

Text

Space Jane Eyre in 10 Quotes (Or Why Charlotte Brontë Would Have Been a Reylo)

Basic Character Similarities

Rey/Jane Eyre

The most obvious similarity between the two is their origins. Rey and Jane are orphans and they both had hard, cruel childhoods because of it. Jane, poor and lonely, is raised by her cold relations, the Reeds, and later sent to suffer the harsh and starving conditions of the Lowood school, run by the autocratic hand of Mr. Brocklehurst. Rey, also poor and lonely, was abandoned by her parents, who are apparently dead. She grew up in the harsh conditions of Jakku, where hunger was a constant companion. Unkar Plutt is the Star Wars counterpart of both the Reeds and Brocklehurst.

Interestingly, neither heroine is embittered or cowed by these grim beginnings. Of necessity, they have a keen sense of self-reliance and self-loyalty, and cling to their own sense of merit. Rey and Jane come from nothing, but they make the better choices.

Ben Solo/Rochester

The most obvious similarity between the two is their turbulent family history and the direction they went because of that. Ben Solo is the sole inheritor of a galactic legacy with a family who expected great things of him. But, one by one, they lost faith in him and the betrayal fueled his descent to the Dark Side. Rochester comes from a wealthy family, but he is a younger son and his father, who refused to split his estate between two sons, arranged to have Rochester marry a rich woman. Both the father and older brother, Rowland, in their desire for wealth, withheld from Rochester the fact that hereditary mental illness ran in her family. The anger over the betrayal and subsequent burden of an insane, violent wife fueled Rochester’s descent into debauchery.

Both men can be said to have misspent their youth, live by a skewed moral compass, and give in far too often to primal instincts, such as fear, anger, and violence. Ben and Rochester come from everything, but they make the poorer choices. In a way, each has given up hope of being something different or changing course, until they meet their respective (or potential) partners.

10 Quotes

OK, here we go.

1) After Jane and Rochester meet:

R: And you came from-?

J: From Lowood school, in –shire.

R: How long were you there?

J: Eight years.

R: Eight years! You must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time in such a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marveled where you had got that sort of face.

Reylo parallel: This is essentially similar to Kylo’s reaction in TFA to finding out that Rey is from the harsh environs of Jakku and isn’t as, well, crusted up (physically and mentally) as she ought to be. It’s sort of where I feel some of his nascent fascination with her starts.

2) Jane speaking to Rochester’s housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax, about Rochester:

F: If he has peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made.

J: Why?

F: Partly because it is his nature – and we can none of us help our nature; and, partly, he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and make his spirits unequal.

J: What about?

F: Family troubles, for one thing.

J: But he has no family.

F: Not now, but he has had – or, at least, relatives. […] Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life.

Reylo parallel: Mirrors Ben’s painful parting from his own family through a series of perceived personal betrayals. We can also draw comparisons between the imbalances of nature in both characters.

3) Rochester opening up to Jane about the person he was at her age:

R: Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, one of the better end; and you see I am not so. Take my word for it – I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that – not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite common-place sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life. […] Remorse is the poison of life.

J: Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.

R: It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform–I have strength yet for that–if–but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.

Reylo parallel: Rochester’s first quote reminds me of Adam Driver’s interpretation of Kylo Ren when he said that the most dangerous and the most complicated villain is the villain who believes they’re right. Ben, despite his upbringing which would suggest otherwise, was in some ways a victim of his circumstances. Intensely lonely, very much isolated as much by his Force inheritance as his bloodline, Ben was ripe for being preyed on by someone wanting to twist his insecurities for their own machinations. Rochester’s second quote, at Jane’s prompt, echoes the back and forth conflict we see in Kylo in TFA and in Ben in TLJ. He thinks he made his choice and continues to try to rationalize and resign himself to it the way Rochester does.

4) Jane’s response to this:

J: Only one thing I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that you regretted your own imperfection; one thing I can comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure.

Reylo parallel: Oh, Jesus, Jane/Rey. How pure you are. This touches a bit on the “kill your past” mantra that Ben hammers into Rey, who like Jane, has already dealt with her past in some ways. It colors who they’ve become and it’s painful to both, but the pain of it didn’t completely twist them, like it did in Ben and Rochester. Jane’s advice here sums up what Rey’s thought process regarding the turning of Ben Solo might have been like.

5) Jane reflecting to herself on Rochester:

J: And was Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader. Yet I had not forgotten his faults: indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountably so. But I believed that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say former, for now he seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it.

Reylo parallel: Holy shit. Well, aside from being a scarily accurate character study of Ben Solo as well as Rochester, this is basically summarizing the intimate notes that come out of Reylo’s Force connection, Rey’s gradual empathy for Ben, and her later rationalization for trying to bring him back: the belief that Ben can change his “faults of morality.” But, like Jane, this quote reflects Rey’s probable understanding that Ben still has some serious personality flaws to overcome before she could really love him. It also includes the definition of a Byronic hero and in it, you can see the clear parallels to Ben’s characterization as a Byronic hero.

6) Rochester disguises himself as a gypsy to try and obtain unguarded answers from Jane:

R: You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly.

J: Prove it.

R: I will; in few words. You are cold, because you are alone; no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the best of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away from you. You are silly; because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon it to approach; nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits you.

Reylo parallel: This, to me, in both stories, is Ben/Rochester trying to lure Rey/Jane to him by forcing her to re-evaluate her truths. He’s trying to break her resolve. It doesn’t really work, in either case, because as I’ve said, though they may feel pain from time to time, Rey and Jane have not let these wounds fester, and it has made them basically untouchable from Ben/Rochester’s manipulations.

7) Just to nail that point home, Rochester (still in gypsy form) analyzes Jane:

R: [Jane’s] brow professes to say, - “I can live alone, if self-respect and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure, born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld; or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give. Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as they are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgment shall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in every decision. Strong wind, earthquake shock, and fire may pass by: but I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the dictates of conscience.”

Reylo parallel: Let me just say, I really love Charlotte Brontë. For me, this is a further character similarity between Jane and Rey that makes me love both characters so much. Rochester might be getting a little carried away here, but this is such an apt description of Rey, too, and again foreshadows her final resolve to leave Ben just as it foreshadows Jane’s decision to leave Rochester. His analysis hits Rochester pretty hard and he ends the gypsy charade by revealing himself to Jane, who basically knew all along that it was him. I like to think Ben comes to a similar understanding of Rey over the course of their Force connections and admires her for it.

8) Rochester is mad and desperate over Jane’s rejection:

R: Never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand! I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with more than courage–with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it– the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit–with will and energy, and virtue and purity–that I want: not alone your brittle frame.

Reylo parallel: Well, this is pretty much the inner thought process flooding Ben’s mind space after the throne room proposal and its rejection. It contains Rochester’s violent undertones, which are actualized by Ben’s actions on Crait and echoed in his claimed intention to destroy Rey. The insight Rochester gains, however, from this violent thinking is something Ben (likely) realizes too late on the floor of the abandoned base: his violence has given way to the hollowness of a false victory.

9) Jane’s tragic leave-taking and famous line:

J: I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.

R: And your will shall decide your destiny. I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.

J: You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.

R: I ask you to pass through life at my side – to be my second self and best earthly companion.

J: For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it.

Reylo parallel: Essentially, this is the dialogue between Reylo in their final, closing Force interchange. You could subtitle their shots with these lines.

10) After Jane and Rochester are reunited she self-reflects:

J: I should not have left him thus, he said, without any means of making my way: I should have told him my intention. I should have confided in him: he would never have forced me to be his mistress. Violent as he had seemed in despair, he, in truth, loved me far too well and too tenderly to constitute himself my tyrant: he would have given me half his fortune, without demanding so much as a kiss in return, rather than I should have flung myself friendless on the wide world.

Reylo parallel: This is the retrospection that Reylo should get in IX. How many of us noted that, had Rey been less impulsive and just asked what Ben meant by creating a new order, maybe Reylo would have ended TLJ on the same side? Ben wasn’t obviously asking Rey to be his mistress, but it represents the moral miscommunication that happened between them. And, obviously, Rey isn’t friendless in a sense. But Ben knows how deep her loneliness and isolation run, and is protective of that the way Rochester is protective of Jane’s well-being. The angst!

Reylo is Space Jane Eyre. That is all.

Bonus Quote

R: I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you–especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.

Reylo parallel: Force bond.

#reylo #reylo meta #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #star wars episode ix #the last jedi #space jane eyre #long book report

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abion1992 · 7 years ago

Text

The ashen one

PROLOGUE

When the age of the ancients ended and the fire was born, three creatures rised and within the flames discovered the lords souls of power, Nito the first of the dead claimed the soul of the death, the witch of Izalith and her daughters of chaos claimed the soul of life and lastly Gwyn the lord of sunlight who claimed the soul of light.

But it is said a fourth soul was later found by the furtive Pygmy, the ancestor of humankind and god of darkness, It is said that he hid the soul away and has passed it down to his ancestors for centuries, tough this we are unsertain of since his story is mostly forgotten by time.

the soul of the three lords challenged the ancients in a war that vanquished the dragons and brought in the golden age of fire. When Seath the scaleless betrayed his own and brought fort the knowledge of dragonscales,the source for immortality.

But the power of the lord souls began to soon fade away as Gwyn's unwillingness to end the age of fire gave birth to the hollows, those that became undead soon became insane and now roam the lands in search for blood and flesh to sate their hunger.

But from the darkest of dungeons an undead rose to ring the bells of awakening and rekindle the flame to prevent the dark age. Many challenges and creatures of horrors would the undead face, the journey was not an easy one as the lords one by one tried to end the undead, but were met with their own ends as a result.

At the end only one lord was left standing, Gwyn. Tough his former glory had been long lost after ages of protecting the flame,he made a worthy battle for the undead, but ultimately had to fall as all the others.

But then the unthinkable happened, the undead consumed by power and bloodlust would not link the flame as the prophecy had told, but instead left it to burn out into ashes and became a dark lord.

And so only darkness remain and with it the wait for the end of the world. This is our fate unless a new undead will rise and rekindle the flame again, thus the prophecy will be completed and the age of darkness will be prevented.

And so a new undead will rise to light the flame, but will it end this long night or prolong it? Only the undead will know.

CHAPTER 1

I woke up, dazed and confused and covered with ash, could my deepest fear be true? Had I rised again as an undead? I pray the gods will be merciful, only in legends from long ago had I hoped they would stay, but nay this fate had now bestowed me. In my deepest despair their came a sound from above my prison cell wich I had woken from, a voice clear as it could be. « are you not yet hollow? Then we are in luck, here grab this key and meet me outside, but be careful there are other undead nearby, altough I fear they may not have their wits about them as you seem to have. There was a sound of metal hitting the floor and I could see clear infront of me a key, I knew not if this voice was friendly or not, but I kew I had no other choice, If I die then maybe this curse will end and I might stay dead.

I picked up the key and tried it on the lock on the door to my cell, It swung open as the key gave away a faint clicking sound. The hallway was dark and empty, but in the far distance I could hear the moans of the undead nearby. In fear of giving my position away I walked with slow and steady steps down the hallway, searching for the voice I had heard in the prison cell when suddenly a ball of fire came rushing down, hitting me with full force and bringing me down to the ground. My journey had only begun and I was already dying. As I lost conciusnes I could hear that voice again from earlier « such a pity, I guess I should have warned you about the traps»

CHAPTER 2

As an undead you will rise and as an undead you will die, but death will never grant you your freedom, only the madness and bloodlust that follows truly will.

I awoke from my slumber with the feeling of death on my mind, I could literally taste it in my mouth at the tip of my tongue, but death had not grasped me, I was again alive, how could this be? I faintly remembered being struck by a barell in flames just a few moments ago. What I saw around me reminded me of a camp, what I saw were ruins made of stone and in the midle on the ground was a sword engulfed in flames, as I moved towards it, a familiar voice I had heard before came from my left side. « hello there my friend» As I turned around I could see where that voice came from, it was a knight or what was left of one, cause the knight was not as heroic or muscular as one would imagine, but instead a broken man, a knight that had fallen from grace long ago, I did not believe he could lift a sword into battle even if he wanted to, those days was long past him.

« dont you worry, first time you awake from death is always the strangest, but it wont be the first time I promise you that, just look at it as waking up from a bad dream, a bad dream indeed»

« I believe we have not yet been introduced to each other, oh how silly of me, my name is Eon, former knight and protector of Gwynewere the princess of sunlight, you may not have heard of me, I can't really blame you, I was overtroned by Ornstein and Smough, but I can't be mad, why should I? To be overtroned by such honored knights should be an honor to me, but yet I feel nothing. It may be the curse slowly creeping in,it does take us all in the end, it always does, but you may wonder why did I rescue you from that prison cell, why are you an undead? So many questions and so little time, time you really dont have, unless the tought of being a bloodthirsty hollow interests you, then by all means just wait it out or you could maybe do something for me, after all why not use the time you have on something useful while your mind is still strong.?

Confused by this knight that went by the name of Eon I struggled to decide if he spoke of reason or was simply mad, insane or both. Yet I only asked « why me?»

Eon laughed heartidly before he replied. « If not you then who else? Do you think I am in any shape to take on any adventure? Those days are sadly behind me, short it may have been, maybe not even worth bragging about.....werry well you do as you wish, but should the wait for the curse to settle in be to tiresome, then consider ringing two bells. The first one lies high up on a tower beyond the undead parish, the other one deep below the labyrinth of Blighttown, but be ware I hear it is particularly poisonous this time of the year wich if im completely honest cant even remember, strange isnt it...to forget both time and place, a strange feeling indeed...now be on your way and maybe our paths may meet again.»

And in a flash of light and smoke he was gone. Two bells, why did it sound so familiar? Like a tale I had been told long ago. I could not be sure if the knight had spoken the truth, but I had a feeling that ringing the bells would only be the beginning of my adventure.

Two bells of awekening needs to chime for only then the undeads fate in this world will be known.

CHAPTER 3

I needed a weapon, a sword, an axe or anything in between, going out in the fields without anything would just leed to another death and the feeling of waking up again with the smell and taste of death was something I would not want to experience again, but what Eon had said about waking up from the dead would be common in time, I still wondered if it could be true, by the gods I hoped not.

In my search for a weapon fit enough to atleast bash some skulls I came upon what looked like to once have been a forge, there was steel hammers, iron and coul scattered around a big muscular body that once must have been the blacksmith that owned this forge. He could not make me a weapon anymore I am sad to say, but among the rubble of stones and bones I did find a usable steel sword, a brown cloak and an iron shield, luck was with me it would seem.

I had not travelled far until I met my first victim. An undead was standing around the corner, spitting and making gargly sounds. I moved slowly behind it, making sure it did not hear me. When I stood directly behind the undeads back I trhust my sword trough it, It happened naturally and I never gave it much tought, as an untrained man of combat I found the common feeling of the killing to be strange, but did I have any sympethy for the undead? I can not say I did, the beast was once human, true, but as an undead was it still to be considered human or not?

The dead body fell on the ground, smuldering into ashes and with it came a glow of light surrounding my hand before it vanished. What kind of black magic was this? I wondered in my solitude that was suddenly broken from a voice from above, with the sunlight in my eyes I could faintly see what in my mind resembled a woman, She wore a heavy armor, a greatsword on her back, but no helmet, her black raven hair was flowing free in the light wind.

« Well met friend, I see you are experiencing the souls power for the first time, dont worry, it will make you stronger and you are gonna need it, there is a giant beast in that castle not far from here, I guess you are seeking to ring the bells, you will have to slay the beast in order to move on, I wish you luck.»

I called for her as she dissapeared wanting to know what kind of beast she was talking about, but to also ask who she was and why she could not come with me. The castle was not far away and with steady and firm steps I moved forward to face the beast I had to kill.

The entrance door was big, really big, shattered and broken, so the way in would not be something I had to figure out since there was a big crack I could shimmy my way trough. Well inside I was met with a big empty room, the air was tick and only the faint sound of some crows resting on the beam high above could be heard. Then there was a loud crash as the beast I had been told about crashed its bottom on the ground infront of me. It was a hideous beast, fat and covered with loose skin and scars. On its back were wings so small that they could have been on a fairy, like those I was told about when I was a young kid.

In its solid and muscular arms it was carrying a big hammer and as my eyes adjusted and took in the huge beast's presence it swung the hammer sideways, hitting me with great force, the air went out of me as I hit the ground. Weak and beaten I got up, holding my sword in my shivering and sweaty hands, waiting for the next attack.

The swing came hard and low as I managed to jump away, This gave me a free path to the beast's legs, I took my advantage without thinking, stabbing my sword in the heel of one of the legs, bringing it down to its knees. I climbed up its back and with great power and strenght managed to stick my blade into the beast's head. With a growl it fell down with a loud bang and stayed still.

I had been lucky, there were no other explenation for why I had survived, the beast crumbled away in ash and just as the undead from before, gave away a light that dissapeared in my hand. Oddly enough I felt stronger, I was no longer tired from the battle,it felt like it had never happened.

« Good work my friend» a voice said. I searched the room to find the source of that voice and was met with the presence of Eon. « You are the first one to kill the beast in one try, normally other ashen ones I have seen dies atleast three times before they slay it, but we have no time to celebrate, the first bell awaits»

he was gone in a flash of smoke and left me wondering why he named me an ashen one and that he mentioned other ones before me. I was eager for answers and moved up the tower were the first bell was waiting, I moved the mecanism and it rang loud and clear, but when the sound began to fade I was still just as confused as I had been before.

CHAPTER 4

Ding dong the bell will ring, but will it bring a new beginning or an even bitter end?

The air was still, everything was quiet and my body was as tense as it could be. I waited for the answers I had been seeking, but none came. I could not be dissapointed, altough the gods know how much I wanted to be. This was after all just the first bell, but there was another one waiting deep below the swamps and I had a feeling the path to that bell would not be as easy as this one.

With heavy steps I moved down the stairs and out of the castle, I was wondering about where to go next, when my eyes lay opon the woman I had met earlier. She was standing against a pillar, arms crossed, her eyes were shining with a clear blue color,something I found unusual considering that everything else I had seen so far was either dead or undead. This woman was none of that, she was the most beatiful thing I had seen.

« We meet again friend, You fought well and now the first bell has been rung. I wanted to congratulate you and I wish we could celebrate, but that would be impossible, Nor do I have any drinks and nor do we have any time to drink it if I by some coincidence did have some.»

She gave away a faint smile, I admired her, to be so positive in a dead world as this. How did she do it? How could anyone do it?

« Who are you? The first words I had uttered to anyone, came out like a whisper, I was even shocked to hear my own voice, since it was normally heard in my own mind.

« I am Evelyn. A fellow undead as you,we share the same path, but as you seek to either link or burn out the flame, my path is far more personal. My brother once was an undead like us, he too was destined to find the flame, he came so close only to find it and then just dissapear, I am here to find out what happened, to get a closure and maybe even find peace.»

« Then....would you join me?» I asked

« Im afraid not, but please do not despair, I will still help as best I can, but the journey must be yours alone, its hard to explain, but that is the way it has always been, Many chosen undead's have linked the flame for centuries,but everytime the dark age returns and a new undead is chosen.»

« but, why Link the flame If it is only to prolong the inevitable?» I asked.

Evelyn got quiet, deep in tough it seemed before she answered

« I have never tought about it that way. You may be right, but why then have you ringed the bell and why do you still continue? You could just stop and let the curse take you. Im afraid that is a choice for you to take, my path is set and I know why I am here.»

I was unsure, conflicted with my mind, but she was right why did I continue, was there something else I did not see? Or was it as hopeless as I had tought?

« what ever you decide to do, decide quickly. I do hope our path meets again, it is not everyday you meet an undead, still willing to talk and even ask questions about their meaning in this world, so long.»

And with that we parted ways. I considered turning back and forget everything, leave this quest behind, but why stop now when I had already started and the power I felt was good. I had never felt so strong before, was this the curse or was I going mad? If I stopped now there was a chance I would never find out.

And then my journey led me to the swamps and the horrors within, many a death I was faced with, but each time,I woke up near a campfire made by a sword, but strange as that was with each death I got weaker, but when I got back to what had killed me I found to my suprise a glowing light, not like the ones from before, this one was bigger and when it dissapeared in my hand I again felt stronger, much stronger than before, I was now convinced that this had to be the curse and that maybe my quest was somehow linked to lift it. Altough I had few answers one thing became painfully clear. what Eon had said about death becomming common was indeed true.

CHAPTER 5

No man can claim to have been truly afraid until he have seen death in the eye and survived. If that was true then I was the bravest man in this land, but the feeling of fear never came to me, for with each death I suffered and the stronger I got with each creature I killed, my feelings and memories slowly faded. It was like my essence of humanity slowly got erased from my mind. It is a terrefying feeling and even more terrefying, I started to forget the simple things, wich day was it? Had I eaten or not and what was my name? Why had this happened to me? Why did I have to be the chosen one?

The more I ventured into the depths, the more unhuman I became, my killings became quicker and easier, and my lust for blood was now instead becomming a lust for power, a power I did not know,but a power I wanted and needed desperately. When I reached the depths beyond the swamp full of poison, gigantic crabs and rats, only darkness surrounded me. It was clear that no one either dead, undead or alive had been here for a long time.

Suddenly in the distance there came a faint light, much like those I wanted. I moved closer, sword in hand and ready to kill when I met the eyes of a small and naked little creature. It was hairless and skinny. It looked at me with a look not of fear, but of sadness, it was like it knew it was beaten and just waited for me to give it the killing blow. My hearth sinks when I write this, but blind with lust for the light the creature held I slayed it without thinking and claimed the power it had protected.

But it was something different with this one, It made me not stronger, but weaker or dare I say normal. I felt cold and hurt from all my wounds and to my horror I could now for the first time see I was bleeding, something I never had felt or seen in my battles so far. But the time for wondering was soon disrupted by cryes from the undead as the whole place got swarmed with them. I raised my sword, but it felt heavier than usual, I started killing them as they rushed towards me, but their numbers soon overcame me and I was knocked out.

« are you alright my friend? Came a voice that made me wake up. I was alive, but it did not feel like I had died, stranngely it felt like I had woken from a dream and not a bad one. Had I been sleeping?

« Take it easy, you have been out for the last hour, when I found you, you were bleeding and uncouncius, I dragged you to the nearest bonfire and just waited for you to wake up.»

My wounds made me feel sour, but as I lay my eyes upon my savoir I saw the woman I admired, It was Evelyn.

« thank you» I managed to say trough my bloodied jaw.

She moved beside me, took a good and curious look at me before she asked « why are you not undead anymore? You look alive.»

I told her about the creature I had killed, about how greedy for power I was and how I could feel everything now, even my feelings for her wich I did not dare tell for fear of what she might say. She listened patiently to every word I said and when I finished, the silence lasted a long while, It was strange, I felt safe and at peace.

« Can you feel it too?» I asked.

She looked at me with a disturbed look, « feel what? I can't feel anything»

« Do you not feel the peace, the warmt from the fire?»

« as I said I can't feel anything, it is strange that you have all these feelings all of a sudden, whatever that creature you killed protected it was not a normal soul, it must have been far more powerful.»

I dont know why, but the more we talked the more I wanted to be with her, I did not want to be alone again, I was tired from it, but if she truly could not feel anything, did that mean she could not feel love?

« Can you tell me more about your brother?» I asked

« I cant remember much sadly, but he was kind and wise.»

« do you love him?» I asked

I could see she got uncomfortable as she fikled with her hands and starting poking the fire with a stick.

« I dont know, should I? Love, that's something I can't remember if I have ever felt.

Saddened by this answer I decided not to ask her anymore questions, It was clear the undead curse was taking its toll on her. I wanted to do something, but what could I do?

« I should get going, the bell is not far from here.»

She stood up and was about to leave when I shouted « wait!»

She turned around and looked at me

« I will find a cure you know, I can maybe save us both.» I wanted to believe it, but her answer made things painfully clear.

« dont give promises you may not be able to keep.»

She was right, how could I know if there was a cure or not?

« before you leave, do you remember the name of your brother?» I asked

« that is strangely the only one clear thing I can remember of him. His name is Eon.»

She left and I could not get that name out of my mind. Where had I heard it before?

CHAPTER 6

The second bell chimed clear and loud. I felt accomplished and proud to have come so far, but my answers was still not in sight. I began questioning my meaning here yet again, but not as much as before. For I understood better now than ever with this new power I had obtained that my quest was not simply to save the world, but maybe save myself and those that was still alive. I wanted to lift the curse, I wanted to help and I wanted to be with Evelyn. Every tought I had about her made me feel both warm and sad, why did the curse have to take her aswell? Was there no one that was spared?

I came upon a cliffside and my path seemed to end at first untill with a scream like a thousand dead souls there infront me was the biggest crow I had ever seen. It swiftly came down and grabbed me with its claws, I tought my end was near for good this time, but when it dropped me on a long stairwell leading up to a castle I was both relieved to be alive and amazed by the arcithecture and scope of the building.

This must have been the old castle of a once great king, but all I saw now was the remains of a fallen glory, nearly destroyed and covered with death and sorrow. As I entered the halls, no guards was there to stop me, no festivities or royalties of any kind, all I saw was skeletons of once great soldiers, One was big and one was skinny. The big one lay beside a great hammer and the other a greatsword was stabbed in its back. What could have killed them I wondered as there was no marks or cuts to be seen, It simply looked like they were both in a deep sleep.

I entered another big door and what I saw was both majestic and different from everything else I had seen. On a big couch there lay a woman. She had a beautiful white dress and a Tiara on her head. She looked at me with a calm and reassuring smile as I knelt before her, knowing that this must be the queen of this castle, but why rule a castle were there were no one to command?

« Rise, ashen one, it has been centuries since I last saw one of your kind, but you look different then any other that has come before you. Are you alive? How can this be? If not the gods of darkness has granted you the soul of humankind?

« I....dont know what you are talking about your majesty.»

« It is strange indeed, but you would not have come this far if the gods did not have a bigger plan for you, one I myself cant answer im afraid, but I will tell you what I know, but first an introduction is at place, my name is Gwynewere, princess of sunlight and ruler of Anor Londo, this castle you now are in, what is your name oh chosen one?»

« my name is Adolin your majesty» I did not know how I remembered my name, but I did.

« greetings Adolin, you may speak your mind freely»

I kept kneeling, not knowing if that was the righ thing to do or not, but asked her my questions:

« I want to know if I can lift this undead curse and what my true purpose in this world is»

« You are not the first one to ask me this Adolin, but I can only tell you what I have told those before you. You are an chosen undead, your destiny is to link the flame and prevent the dark ages return. You must ultimately succeed our lord Gwyn and avert further undead sacrifices, It is your duty in fact and all the other chosen undeads that have come before you has fulfilled that duty with great success, but the dark age always returns no matter what, It is an evil dark cycle, but what else can we do but the same thing we have done for centuries? I do not know if this will lift the curse you are talking about, since no one has been conserned or even asked about such a curse, I hope this answers some of your questions.»

It did answer some, but I was still confused and dissapointed that the princess did not have any answer for the curse and I began to fear that I was doomed.

« Your majesty, If what you say is true, then how can you be alive? Are you an undead aswell, does the curse affect you?»

« I am just an illusion of what I used to be. I am indead dead, but no curse have ever affected me. You see me only because you are the chosen one, I can only guide those that are chosen undeads. You may not get all your questions answered,but the duty is yours to fulfill none the less. I will send you to the kiln of the first flame and there you will have to face your greatest choice,

but that is a choice only you can make. Normally you would have to seek out the souls of the chaos lords, but as I see you are no ordinary undead and equipped with the soul of humankind, things have changed.»

I bowed deep, showing my gratitude for the answers as she spoke again: «I beg you Adolin, succeed lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the worlds fire. We have only thee.»

As she spoke those words a circle of light surrounded my feets and in the next moment I stood infront of the entrance of a great tower or atleast what was left of it, the structures were beyond repair and the roof had collapsed, but from that roof it came a faint beam of light, it had to be the flame. I was about to enter the entrance and was ready to face the ultimate choice, when I saw to my right, under a rock an armor I recognised. I moved closer, lifted the rock away and was met with the face of the woman I loved.

CHAPTER 7

« Evelyn! Please wake up, dont leave me!» I screamed , holding her lifeless body in my arms. Tears were falling down my face, I could not let her die, she could not die. Not now when I was so close to end it all.

A sudden gasp came from her and in joy I was relieved to see her alive, but that joy soon got crushed as I in horror could see that the woman I loved had become hollow. She waved uncontrollably with her arms as I tried to calm her to no avail. Her eyes met mine and they were no longer a sight of beauty, but a sight of true hate and bloodlust.

I would not belive it, This could not be reality, but the more I sat there, fighting for control, the more I realised that she was now just an another creature like all the others I had killed. I managed to grab her dagger from her belt and as my hearth broke in true sadness I slit her troath. I could not see her like this, but I took solitude in knowing that her soul would be a part of me as she crumbled away in my hands until only her ashes remained.

My quest was nearly complete, but why should I even complete it now? Evelyn, I realised, had been the true reason for why I had pushed forward despite my doubtness. I wanted to save her and myself, but mostly her. I wished I had told her my feelings for her, now it was too late and my quest seemed pointless to finish, but I could not fail the princess, I could not fail the human kind, I was destined to save them. In the end I really had no other choice.

As I entered the entrance to the tower I could see the flame burning faintly. I had decided to sacrifice myself so that others could live, my life was pointless anyway, This had been my purpose all along, to die for the human kind. As I was about to complete the task a figure emarged from the shadows and it was then I remembered the name of the one Evelyn had searched for, her long lost brother Eon.

« So here you are my friend, You finally are at your journeys end. Now tell me, what will you do? Will you sacrifice yourself and prevent the dark age, despite that it will no matter what return? Or will you just walk away and become a dark lord and rule this werry land? A land that is only inhabited by death and tragedy? It is a hopeless choice no matter what isnt it? I made my choice long ago, I became a dark lord, because why would I leave such power behind? Why save a world that cannot be saved either way?

« Eon, the power has consumed you, you are a ruler of nothing as you say, so why then are you still here? Why do you prevent the chosen ones to succeed, why did you even free me from my cell?

« I am a ruler of death, that is clear, but the power I have I cannot erase, I am nothing without it and the reason for me freeing you was simply to have another worthy opponent, You really think I helped you all this way to succeed, no, I helped you to get so far only so that I could kill you for sport, but now as I can see you have regained your humanity I will give you an offer. Join me and we can rule together, we will create a new world, the way we want it to be. Why save the humankind the old way as it is clearly not helping? The world needs to change, the rules need to change, the old ways must be changed»

« I dont believe you Eon, with a dark lord as a leader you would surely bring the humankind to its knees just for your amusement and lust for power»

« You fool! Have you not heard anything of what I have told you? Dont you see I am trying to save the humankind? Just as you are seeking to do aswell? We have the same goal, I am just offering another way. You cannot be as blind as I think you are.»

« I am sorry Eon, but I cannot join you. I will not rule a world just for power, my way may not prevent the dark age forever, but atleast then the humankind will not be forced into a leadership they may not want. And when the time comes for a new chosen undead to take this journey It will have to make the same choise as me, as everyone that has walked this path. The human race should be able to choose and handle on their own terms.»

« Then why may I ask you does the human race let it be up to only one chosen undead, why could not all choose?

« Because Eon, they have no choice and how can you know for sure that what you are offering will prevent the dark age for ever? Maybe there are no better ways here.

« then why should it matter what you choose to do oh chosen one? Why not take a chance?

I lowered my head, knowing it was pointless, my quest was pointless, this world was doomed no matter what, but would I give it away to a corrupt leader like Eon?

I raised my sword in a fighting stance as I said: « then we should fight for it, it is clear we can not come to an agreement and a world with two leaders both corrupted with power can only lead to even a longer tragic period and with even more innocent lives going to waste.»

« By the gods you are indeed blind, the power is destroying you aswell, you may be right that the world is doomed no matter what, but I cannot be sure untill I have tried my way. I will make your death swift, no one has beaten me in combat and you will not be the one to finish the job»

Eon raised his sword from his scabbard and raised it high in a glorius stance as it became engulfed in flames. His eyes returned to me, his look gave me a cold sweat and as our swords clashed with each other, flames and sparks flew all around us, burning our clothes and skins, but as I tried to avoid the heat, it never seemed to bother Eon, nor did any of my attacks as he swiftly dodged away every swing I thrust at him. As the battle went on I got more and more tired, I was no longer an invincible undead that could wake up from death after all, I was a human being with flesh and blood and the disadvanteges it came with in a deadly battle. I felt like Eon was a wall that could not be broken, for every planned attack I had he always saw it comming, in fact he was most likely three steps ahead of me as every attempt of getting a hit in resulted in a cut across my arms, legs or chest.

« You are weak oh chosen one, soon you will die and this time you will not wake up, the human soul will be mine and with it my power will become even greater. Atleast maybe in your death you can join my sister. Oh I knew about her quest and how pointless it was, I saw how you looked at her from far away and I knew you had feelings for her, oh how fun it was to see, a love that could never be and all it led to was for you to now be killed by me»

I hated the way he dared to say it like a mocking rhyme, I had tought him evil before, but now he was only cold blooded, Evelyn had sacrificed so much to find him only to never reach him and run out of time as the curse ultimately took her, she died thinking she had failed Eon when the truth was that he never wanted to be found by her in the first place.

« you....you god damn bastard!” I screamed as Hatred consumed me. I hit his sword hard with mine. With every blow he got pushed a little way back and he struggled to get any returning strike on me as my blows got faster and harder each time. With a heavy swing I knocked his sword out of his hand and not wasting my chance I stabbed my sword right trough his chest and left it there,stuck in his body.

He fell on his kness and started coughing up dark blood. « Curse you.....how is this possible? How can a mortal human kill me?» he muttured his words trough blood and a feeling of hate as I picked up his own sword from the ground and moved beside him.

« I tought I could never feel this again, but your sister showed me it was still possible, even in a world as dead as this one»

Eon looked up on me coughing,holding his chest with one hand and steadying himself with the other « What are you talking about? Is the curse finally taking you too? He started laughing as I raised the sword and spoke the last words he would ever hear: « Love conquers all»

And with that I swong the sword in a clear downward strike, leaving his body headless.

CHAPTER 8

The flame is getting fainter now as I am writing these last words. Ever since I killed Eon my purpose here has been in constant conflict. I want to to do the right thing, but after all I have been trough I am starting to wonder if there is no right thing to do, it is hopeless no matter what. At first I wanted to fulfill my duty as I had been told by the princess, but then I started to think about what Eon had told me before our fight, making my choice even harder, damn it all . If only I did not have to do this alone, if only Evelyn could be here.

I will leave my story behind, hiding it under a rock in hope that someone else walking this path may find the answers that I never got. With this I take my farewell and hope my sacrifice will do some good for the world. I am tired of being alone. I hope with my death that I can join my forefathers and the woman that showed me that love still could exist when everything seemed hopeless.

I Collected the notes I had written, hid them under a rock and reached my hand out to the flame. As my body got engulfed and the fire started to burn my flesh I uttered my last words: may death finally free me.

EPILOGUE

And so the prophecy was completed. The dark age had been prevented and again the humankjnd could live in a world without darkness. They could not know how long this would last, but the age of ��fire was indeed long, so long infact that the fear of the dark age soon faded away from their minds. That was until the story of the chosen undead who claimed the soul of humankind was found.

Trough the notes written long ago the humans understood how this long age of fire had came. It was not an undead who had kindled the flame, but a living human with a beating hearth, thus the prophecy had changed and with it the world.

Baffled by this new wisdom the humans started to send a willing living being to rekindle the flame when the signs of the dark age slowly returned. This worked for a while until their couriusness got the better of them, they started wondering if the age of fire would be even longer if a newborn was sacrificed instead of a living person that had already lived out most of its life.

This angered the mothers and fathers of the world as was expected, since no parent wanted to bring their newborns to the flame.

soon after, a war broke out, not against any gods or beast's, but against those that believed in this new prophecy and those that didn't. This war went on for so long that the humans, blind with fear and hatred could not see the dark ages return before it was too late.

And thus the circle has started again, the world had been saved, but ultimately the human kind could not save it from themselves, the darkness has consumed us all. This is our fate.

But as we now are yet again waiting for the end of the world we are asking ourselves if this could have truly been prevented or if it was always meant to be.

THE END

#dark souls #fan fiction #thomas jensen #dark fantasy #Drama #long text

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